


Reversed

by ChaosKirin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Queen (Band)
Genre: Curses, Freddie is a Siren, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Genderbending, LGBTQ Themes, Mystery, Whodunnit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 04:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 95,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18513931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosKirin/pseuds/ChaosKirin
Summary: The Queen Boys go to Hogwarts. All different houses, but somehow all still friends! Which is good, because they're going to need to stick together to solve a mystery; if they don't, it'll affect the rest of their lives, and some are more okay with that than others.





	1. Prequel--In His Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their meeting is out of circumstance. Their alliance is out of pure necessity. But these kids aren't cold-hearted, and they can learn to get along so much better than the generations that came before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally a standalone fic in which Roger, Brian, and Freddie were third-years and John was a second year. However, I got an idea for the rest of the story, so it jumps ahead after this to the next year. I figured I'd put everything together, though. Made more sense that way!

Between the two of them, Brian and John should have been able to get Roger up the stairs. _Should have_. Except Roger had become dead weight between them, legs dragging, black eyes staring.

"Did you hex his legs, too?" Brian snapped, lip curling at the Slytherin supporting Roger's other arm.

Neither of them were particularly powerful, and John - a year younger than the other two - couldn't recall ever having any muscle to speak of in the first place. Add that to the fact that Roger was a chaser on the Quidditch team, and quite solidly built, and it meant that getting him up the stairs to the infirmary was a challenge. "Use your legs, Taylor!"

"I thought I was supposed to be playing the grievously injured damsel in distress?"

Brian groaned. "How are you still _joking_ about this? You can't see, you idiot!"

"Bet he can walk, though." John elbowed Roger's ribs, and miraculously, the Hufflepuff found his feet.

Even so, John kept a hand on Roger's arm. He felt guilty enough as it was without leaving Roger alone in the dark. This wasn't meant to happen. John had just meant to disarm the other boy, but... Somehow, he found the words to another spell on his lips instead. This one was a curse, and poorly understood, at that.

An intricate black mask traced the skin in and around Roger's eyes, the pattern almost like lace. It was disturbing, but beautiful, shimmering like stars. John couldn't stop looking at it, half with pride and half in horror. He hadn't meant to curse the poor kid's eyes, but damn, was that spell advanced for a second-year student!

He was going to get expelled for this. His family would disown him, or kill him.

Roger leaned over and whispered. "It's okay, John. Trust me."

John realized he was shaking. Roger must have been able to feel it. "How, in any way, is this okay?"

"It's not," Brian said. "And once we make sure Roger's okay, I'm telling the Headmistress everything."

"I hope you make sure you tell her that this _idiot_ challenged me to a duel in the first place!" John snarled. "And you were his second, May!"

"'This idiot' is right here," Roger said.

"Good! Don't challenge me to a duel next time!"

"Roger that!" Roger said.

Incredulous, Brian let Roger go, and stood with his hands on his hips. "Oh, you'll listen to _him?"_ Brian demanded. "This is a _snake,_ Roger. We step on snakes. I'm your best friend, and I clearly remember telling you that this was a bad idea."

"Well, I mean..." Roger fumbled for words. "There's a big difference between 'this is a bad idea' and 'don't do the thing.' Seems to me like we should keep John around. He has the potential to stop me from doing some _incredibly_ stupid stuff!"

John chuckled before he realized what he was doing.

"It's not funny, you prat," Brian said. "You could have killed him."  
  
Killed?  
  
No.  
  
Could he have? Granted, he'd said the words to the curse that blinded Roger before he really knew what he was saying, as if they had a mind of their own. He'd screamed them, in fact, if he remembered right. At full volume, louder than he'd ever said anything before. But what if he'd said something else?  
  
"No," John said, half to himself and half to Brian. "I couldn't have. I'm twelve." He stopped on the stairs, distracted by the idea.  
  
"You could have. I'm honestly surprised you didn't," Brian said. "Pleasantly, mind, since we're all still very much alive. Thanks for _that._ "

Could he have felt so much hate in that moment that he could have _possibly_ used the Killing Curse?

No.

"Let's go, Rog," Brian said, taking Roger's arm again. He gave John another good glare before turning away.

Despite the fact that he couldn't see, Roger still faced backward even as Brian pulled him up the stairs. Eventually, Roger did turn, and John thought that would be the end of it. He could escape to his dorm and try to figure out whether or not he was capable - at the age of twelve - of killing another student that he...

Well, he didn't particularly _like_ Roger Taylor, but he didn't hate him.  
  
"Hang on, Bri," Roger said. John looked up again, to find the Hufflepuff feeling his way down the stairs on his own. John automatically reached out to help him. Roger wasn't a bad kid after all... He was just in the wrong house. And definitely didn't deserve a life of blindness for a few idiot pranks.  
  
"John, I told you, it'll be okay." He took one of John's hands in both of his, and for a second, John believed him.

"No, he's like all the others in Slytherin. He'll grow up to be--well, whatever it is they call Death Eaters now that You-Know-Who is gone."

John wrenched his hand away from Roger. He didn't have the fortitude to argue... He was scared, not just for himself, but because he could have actually killed someone. It would have been a Hufflepuff, sure. A kid. No one, really. And also the most confusing person John had ever met, because who was _nice_ to someone who just cast an experimental curse on you? But it would have been a person, who had feelings and dreams and goals. What if, instead of staring into Roger's black, starry eyes, he was staring at Roger's corpse?  
  
He saw it for a moment. A dead kid, pale and lifeless.  
  
Struck with the gravity of what could have happened, John took a step back. Unfortunately, as he was on a step, his foot landed on thin air, resulting in an immediate tumble. Something cracked as he tried to catch himself, and the resulting pain followed him all the way down. He couldn't remember how high up he was, but by the time he collided with the landing, he felt like he'd rolled down a hundred stairs. Howling in agony, he curled against the bannister, clutching at his arm.

"What happened?" Roger asked. "John?"

"Look -- I didn't mean it, Deacon," Brian said, footsteps getting closer. "I mean, as far as Slytherins go, you're all right, I guess? What'd you go and -- Oh, hell, this is broken."

John opened his eyes, peering up at the Ravenclaw through tears. "Broken?"  
  
John hadn't ever seen that look on Brian's face before. Gentle, worried, caring. Before, it always looked so angry. "You're _both_ idiots," he said.

"Brian?" Roger whimpered.

Brian bit his lip, brow furrowed. "Okay, Rog... Let me..." He stood, skipping back up the stairs. Taking Roger by the hand, he guided him back down to the landing. "Sit here with Deacon. I'm gonna go get Madam Pomfrey. Don't move, either of you. I mean it."

After helping Roger sit, Brian ran off, at a much quicker pace, toward the infirmary.  
  
All John wanted to do was cry, really, but he found himself distracted when he felt Roger's hand on his hip.  
  
"What are you...?" John started.  
  
But Roger seemed to be concentrating quite intently as he moved his hand, finding John's elbow. A little more, and he was touching John's shoulder. "Ah-ha!" he exclaimed. Reaching all the way around, Roger pulled John up, until he was sitting. Not one to reject any sort of comfort at the moment, John leaned against Roger, relishing the warmth.  
  
"Did you fall down the whole flight?" Roger asked.  
  
"Half, maybe," John said, glancing up and estimating. "Yeah, half. May says my arm is broken." He looked down at it and wished he hadn't; no arm should be able to bend quite that way, and seeing it just made it hurt more.

"Why do you do that?" Roger asked.

"What? Fall? It's a hobby."

"No. You call me and Brian by our last names. I mean, he does it, too, but just 'cuz you do, I think."

John really had no idea. It seemed like the thing to do, he supposed. Take something precious to someone and completely ignore it in favor of something less personal? Seemed stupid, now that he really thought about it.

"Anyway," Roger went on. "This is quite a spell you did. I think you might know more than Brian."  
  
More than a Ravenclaw? Possible. Probable, even. Though Brian didn't seem like the type to study curses in the first place. They were all academic, Ravenclaws. Maybe they could name a curse, but they didn't know the intricacies of it. Still, the compliment made him proud. "I've never tried this one before. It's..." He looked into the Hufflepuff's eyes. They were entirely black now. "Well, it's... It's a curse. It's bad, Roger."

"I know."

"Then why are you so calm?"

He smiled serenely. "Well, it's done, isn't it? There's nothing I can do about it right this minute. Besides, I don't think you meant to."

After a moment, John said, "No. I really didn't." There was no sense wasting an opportunity to learn, though. He leaned over to look at the spell's handiwork again. "What's it like? Do you see anything?"

Roger shook his head. "No. N'come to think of it, I'm not totally sure what... what it was like to see." His eyes narrowed, the bright stars shifting around inside. "That's strange. I mean, odd, isn't it? I don't remember what you look like."

John felt sick.

"It'll be okay!" Roger said again. "Madam Pomfrey'll make it better."

John wasn't so sure.

"Huh. I mean, I know your house colors are green and silver, but I can't even think of what green looks like right now. That's kinda scary!"

"Please stop," John said weakly.  
  
"Oh, okay." Roger pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. "Just thought you wanted to know is all."  
  
"I didn't know it did all that," John said. "I didn't even know it'd blind you. It's just called the lace-eyes curse." He paused. "Come to think of it, that sounds horrible now that I've said it."

"Look at us, having a normal conversation," Roger said.  
  
"You're cursed, and my arm's just broken. This isn't how normal people have a chat."

"True," Roger said. "Anyway, you seem nice enough. How'd you end up in Slytherin, anyway?"  
  
John wiped the tears away with a sleeve. As long as he didn't move his arm, the pain was more dull than anything. Constant, but not the impossibly brilliant pain he'd experienced at first. He managed a smile. "Don't tell anyone, but I was almost a Hufflepuff."

"Yeah, you seem like the type." Roger smiled crookedly. "Maybe we could have been friends then."

It seemed awfully stupid that they couldn't be, come to think of it. John was about to say as much when Brian and Madam Pomfrey appeared at the top of the stairs. The old Mediwitch bustled down, skirt held up so she didn't trip on it.

Kneeling down next to John, she reached for his arm, then stopped short when she got a good look at it. "Oh, you're right, May. This is definitely broken. Falling down the stairs! How long have you been here?"  
  
John found that he often lost his voice around people he didn't know very well. Brian answered for him. "He's a second-year, ma'am."

"Second year. All you students look about the same age when you're as old as I am. Well, I suppose that's all right then. Difficult to get used to all these moving staircases, I imagine."

"Yes, ma'am," John said, quietly.  
  
"As for you..." She turned to Roger, reaching for his face. He jumped when her fingers touched the skin around his eyes. "Cold, smooth, I know what this is, but I haven't seen it in years. What in Merlin's name happened?"

John looked up at Brian. The Ravenclaw crossed his arms, quickly looking away. _He hadn't told!_

"One of the sixth-years bet me that I couldn't curse myself," Roger said, proudly. "He owes me n' Brian n' John here a butterbeer next time we go to Hogsmeade."  
  
John bit his tongue before he could make the argument that no silly Hufflepuff could have pulled off such an advanced curse. Roger seemed to be in the process of saving his ass, which meant John was going to have to let that little insult go. At least for now.

Pomfrey looked up at Brian, who rolled his eyes. "Roger's an idiot, Madam Pomfrey," he said. "I found him wandering around in the Great Hall. Me n' Deacon were helping him get up to the infirmary, but then..."

"I see. Well, Mister Taylor, I'll be informing your Head of House that you've been using advanced curses. I'll recommend taking at least one hundred points from Hufflepuff. This sort of magic is //dangerous.//" She shook her head, clicking her tongue. "At least you didn't curse someone else. Honestly, you children. Up. Both of you. We'll have you seen to."

With Pomfrey helping Roger to his feet, that left Brian to help John. He did so with surprising care, slowly, so as not to jar the broken arm too badly. It still stung, now that gravity was pulling on it. John held it to his chest, feeling tears sting at his eyes again. "Madam Pomfrey?" John asked. "Can you fix his eyes? He's going to be okay, right?"

Pomfrey turned, hesitating. Roger said, "It's okay. You can say."  
  
"There are... some side effects," she said. "Minor, but obvious, I'm afraid. But you'll see again."  
  
Side effects.  
  
As Pomfrey helped Roger up the stairs, John met Brian's eyes, and they shared a moment of worry.

 

\---

 

"Uuughhhh," Roger groaned. As he became more and more conscious, the headache seemed to get worse. Still, he chanced opening his eyes, grimacing as the light hit them. He threw his arms up in front of his face to block it out.

Well, at least he remembered what _seeing_ was like now. Pain. Agony.

"Roger," someone whispered.

"No, not so loud," he whined. Peering through his fingers, he found John and Brian standing over him. If John would only move a _little_ bit to the right, he'd block out the overhead torch...

"We're between classes," Brian said, as quietly as he could manage. Thankfully, Brian's voice was fairly comforting, anyway, but it still made Roger's head hurt. "Thought we'd come see if you were awake yet."  
  
Between classes? Roger's duel with John was on Saturday, which meant he must have missed all of Sunday. At least. "So, this is when I ask the cliché, 'how long was I out?' question, I suppose." He squeezed his eyes shut and added, "Shut up, Roger. You're too loud."

" _He's_ Roger, though," John said, worried.  
  
"He knows. He's just being funny," Brian replied. "Or trying. It rarely ever hits the mark."  
  
"Hey, I'm funny." Roger opened one eye again, and gestured to the window. "Think one of you can shut the curtains?"  
  
"They're closed, Rog," Brian said. "Besides, it's cloudy out. You're just very photosensitive right now. It'll pass."  
  
"Oh, yeah, don't take my photo right now, either. I imagine I'm a bit of a mess. Now, c'mon. Tell me. How long was I out?"

Brian and John looked at each other. Roger noticed that John's wrist was neither wrapped, nor did it look like it hurt at all as he cradled a stack of books. "Ah, well," John said. "Pomfrey put you out for a week. She thought you'd wake up today. I got your homework."

Roger groaned.

"I told you, he doesn't like homework," Brian said. "You should have saved that for when he was up and about."

Roger smiled. "You two friends now?"

"He needed someone to keep him in line. Slytherins, you know," Brian said.

John rolled his eyes.

Roger pushed himself up until he was sitting. The headache was easing a bit now, although it still felt like someone had grabbed his brain, shaken it, and put it back sideways. One would think that with all the witches and wizards around Hogwarts, they might have found a way to eliminate such inconveniences entirely. Maybe he'd ask Pomfrey for a headache draught once Brian and John left. "You guys figure out what the side effects are supposed to be?"

They smiled, and John giggled behind his hand. Roger didn't like _that._ It meant they were in on a joke that he _wasn't_ in on, and that was unacceptable. "C'mon, it can't be too serious. What? What is it? Do I have another eye?" He waved his hand in front of his face, but found that he was still seeing in boring, normal three dimensions. No mystical powers of prestidigitation. Alas.  
  
"Is he disappointed that he doesn't have another eye?" John asked.

"No," Roger said. Then, "Yes, maybe."

"It's not that exciting," Brian said. "John, did you bring the mirror?"

"Oh, right. Hang on." He set his books down on the nightstand and slung his bag off his shoulder, digging through it.  
  
"You'll have some dark circles under your eyes," Brian said. "That's thanks to the initial masking spell effect. But it doesn't look that bad, honestly, I think. It's the other thing... Show him. He'll probably love it."  
  
John handed him the mirror. Despite his curiosity, Roger still felt just the slightest amount of trepidation as he looked into it... and found that his eyes were a rather fetching shade of bright lavender. Surprising, to say the least. He wondered if it was a trick of the light, but when he moved the mirror, they stayed purple.

"Pomfrey says they'll change based on the weather," Brian said. "It's raining now, so... We're guessing purple is rain. We'll have to see what the rest is. I guess that's the true intention of the spell, it's just... imperfect. Also, it's..."

"Not reversible," John said quietly. "I'm really sorry, Roger."

He missed the blue, it was true. Still, John seemed so down, and it could have ended up being a whole lot worse. Color-changing eyes? The girls were going to _love him._ "Are you _kidding?"_ Roger exclaimed. "This is _great._ There's no windows in Hufflepuff. We'll know what to wear without sending someone upstairs in their skivvies."

"Told you," Brian said. He smiled, laying a hand on John's shoulder.  
  
But John didn't look particularly relieved. He had that same sick, pale look that he had on the stairs. Or, the same look Roger imagined he would have, if Roger could have pictured anything at that point in time. In any case, he looked _now_ how he sounded _then_ , and that was kind of sad. "Hey, Bri?" Roger said. "Can I talk to John for a bit?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's fine. Glad you're up, Roger. I'll have your homework waiting for you when you get out of here." He winked as Roger groaned, before shouldering his bag.

"He _knows_ I hate homework," Roger said, once Brian was gone. "Your wrist looks okay."  
  
"Oh, yeah. They fixed it up here really quick," John said, turning it over a couple times. He sat on the bed, shoulders slumping. "Thanks, by the way... For taking the fall for me. While I was up here, I heard Pomfrey talking. I'm sure if they knew I cursed you, I would have been expelled."

"It's not that bad! Is it?" Roger held up the mirror again, poking at the dark smudges under his eyes. Eh, he could make it work. They really brought out the color, honestly, even if that color was purple. "We gotta find out what the other colors are. Think you can make it stop raining?"

"...Yes." John said. "I mean, yes, it's bad. No, I can't make it stop raining. Do you take anything seriously? I cursed you, Roger. Forever. What if it'd been worse?"

Roger lowered the mirror. The poor second-year looked like he was about to cry. "My mum says 'if' is a big word."

"It's two letters."

"Yeah, but you can't dwell on it, you know? If you start thinking of all the 'what ifs,' then you never live //now.// What are you worried about? If you'd cast the killing curse?"

John didn't say anything.

"Look, I don't know you very well, but everything I need to know about you, I've learned since our duel. S'far as I can tell, you wouldn't be able to do it." When John looked affronted, Roger clarified. "That's a good thing! No one should be able to cast that curse, and those who can are _bad people._ And you wouldn't have said the words anyway. You wanted to teach me a lesson. You didn't want to kill me." Roger paused, then added, "Did you?"

"No! Of course not!" As soon as John said the words, realization dawned, and he relaxed. "No. I never want that. Still. I think what I did to you... It's the worst curse I know. And I shouldn't have been able to do it. I mean, most adults can't do it. It _is_ still under development, after all. It just doesn't work right... But it's not the words. I've read about it, you see. A little. It must be the wand movement. It's not at all natural, so maybe..."

Roger laughed as a memory re-surfaced. "Oh. Oh, I remember you now. You're the one that sat up front with the sorting hat on his head for ten minutes. You could have been a Ravenclaw, too, I bet."

John stared, drawn out of his thoughts. Then he smiled, shyly running his fingers through long, reddish hair. "They call it hatstall," he said. "Or, it would have been, if it'd gone on for another few minutes. But, yes. I could have been a Ravenclaw, too."

"And Gryffindor?"

"Merlin, no."

"Thank God."

Roger set the mirror back on the nightstand, and leaned back on his pillow. Despite having slept for a week, he still felt incredibly tired. Maybe being cursed sapped all your energy, too. Honestly, the thought that it could have been worse was pretty frightening, and maybe he'd think about how lucky he was later when it all caught up with him. Maybe he'd talk about that with Brian, though, since John seemed awfully traumatized by the whole thing. He certainly didn't seem like the stereotypical mean-spirited, borderline-evil Slytherin everyone talked about.

"Hey, John? Why'd we start fighting, anyway?"

"You don't remember?"

Roger thought for a moment. He really didn't.

Clearly uncomfortable, John shifted, appearing much smaller. His brows lowered, but he looked hurt more than angry. "You... You charmed all the words in all my books to be the same color as the pages. I'd bought new books before I realized what you did."

"Oh yeah! Yeah, I remember now." He chuckled. "You were so _pissed._ I never heard a first-year say those words before."  
  
John reddened, looking away.  
  
It wasn't just the incident with the books, though, Roger realized, with a rare stab of guilt. Because after that, there was the hair-color-changing incident. And the sweater-unraveling incident. And many other incidents that seemed entirely minor and extremely funny, until Roger added them all up and realized... He'd been harassing the shy kid. The quiet one who just wanted to stay out of the way. Who didn't want to bother anyone. It was no wonder John had been so angry by the time they got to dueling. "Oh. Damn. I mean, you have such a bad temper... It was like, ah... throwing water balloons at a bear. Hilarious, 'til it... rips out your spleen or something. Brian did tell me to leave you alone. I guess after all that, I deserved--"

"Don't say you deserved it," John interrupted. "I was scared you'd never see again. I was scared I could have killed you. That's a lot worse."

Roger always prided himself on being the easy-going, laid-back guy who everyone thought was a complete idiot. He liked to make people laugh. And he did! Of course, it meant he was a bully, which wasn't ever what he intended. And he'd driven a nice kid to cast a horrible curse. Of course Roger deserved what he got. "I'm sorry, John. I really am."

"Yeah, well, if we're going to be friends, can you maybe do that a little less often? The bear-harassing, I mean."  
  
Friends?  
  
_Friends?_  
  
Roger knew his face must be lit up like a Christmas tree. He didn't care, though. "You? And a Hufflepuff? This is _so cool."_ He used the springiness of the horrible hospital mattress to propel himself forward, knocking John's bag to the floor, so he could wrap his arms around his new Slytherin best friend forever. "Ain't no one messin' with me now," he said.

John tried everything to pry him away, finally gave up, and said, "You're going to have to stop hugging me at some point."

"That's a lie," Roger replied.

 

\---

 

"Are they gonna do this every night?" Roger asked.

He looked over his shoulder. John winced, quickly looking away. Roger's eyes - both the white part and the iris - were inky black and eerily deep, filled with stars. Just like they had been when John first cursed him.

Except he could see this time, and seemed the tiniest bit unimpressed.

"'cuz if they're gonna do this every night... This isn't okay!" He turned back to the mirror, pulling his eyelid up to he could glance under it. "I mean, there's weather at night. Can't they be, I don't know. Blue or something?"

John got the distinct feeling that Roger wasn't as okay with the curse as he initially let on.

"Rog, it's okay," Brian said. "Look, it's just at night. They'll be fine tomorrow."

"This is a lot more noticeable than purple," Roger said.

"It _is_ a curse," Brian said, glancing at John. "If it wasn't unpleasant, it'd be called a charm. We can get you sunglasses or something, if it bothers you."

"It's bothering me!"

John couldn't even squeak another "I'm sorry." Maybe he'd reached his quota for the day. Or maybe the way Brian was staring at him, angrily waiting for him to say something, robbed him of his ability to speak. He couldn't be sure.

Thankfully, someone chose just that particular moment to walk into the bathroom, and John didn't have to think of anything to say. In fact, even Roger shut up, turning away from the newcomer, as Brian tried (and failed) to appear casual, leaning against the row of sinks.

The Gryffindor stared at them for a moment, before snorting a quick chuckle. "Well then," he said, stepping up to the sink and turning it on. "This isn't suspicious at all. A Hufflepuff and a Slytherin hanging out together in the loo?" After splashing his face, he used his sleeve to dry himself, and smirked, large upper teeth showing for a moment. "And a Ravenclaw referee? Should I go get a professor? Or popcorn?"

"You could just bugger off," Roger said. He was hyperventilating, almost out of breath, and pale. John put a hand on his shoulder.

"He okay?" The Gryffindor asked, entire tone shifting. It sounded genuine enough. "You aren't beating the stuffing out of him, are you? I think that's a Slytherin thing to do. eh?"

John looked at the floor. He had a thousand witty things he could say, but unfortunately, they wouldn't pop into his head until after the Gryffindor left. Such was his own curse.

"He's..." Brian started. Roger nodded just a little, and Brian finished with, "Fine," and an obviously strained smile.

"He's not," the Gryffindor said in a sing-song voice. He sauntered around Brian and John. For a second, Brian looked as if he might reach out to stop him, but the Ravenclaw seemed to be entirely non-confrontational, from what John knew of him so far. And John, of course, was almost useless in the face of someone new. If he had even a small measure of Gryffindor bravery, he could have hauled this newcomer out by the hood of his robe, given him a kick in the rear, and told him to mind his own business.

John did all that in his head. He was a hero there.

Eventually, the Gryffindor stood directly in front of Roger.

And he stared, dumbfounded and horrified. "Oh, your _eyes_ darling! They're _hideous!"_

Roger whimpered. It was just the tiniest noise, just the whisper of tears, that caused John to snap. Considering he was already feeling guilty and fairly protective of the boy he cursed, he found it quite easy to locate his backbone and pull his wand out of his pocket, pressing it against the Gryffindor's throat. The boy raised his hands in surrender, backing away a few steps. However, John was already seeing red, and it wasn't just the lining of the Gryffindor's robes.

John smiled. He hadn't meant to smile. It didn't seem like a very smile-worthy moment. Then he said, "I can curse you, too, if you like it so much."

Brian gently reached over and took the wand from John, setting it on the ledge above the sink. "No more cursing people, Deacon. Let's deal with one problem at a time."  
  
He met the Gryffindor's eyes. They were wide, his hands still raised. John shook his head, rubbing his temples. "Sorry... S-sorry," he said, tangling his fingers in his hair. "Just-- He was making it worse. He was making it worse."

Brian took John's shoulders, meeting his eyes. "I know. But we gotta work on that temper. You can't just do stuff like that. Okay?"

John nodded.

"Is this a new thing?" The Gryffindor said. "The hideous eyes, that is? I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to rub salt in the wound, as it were." He glared at John, suspiciously. " _Did_ you want me to get a professor?"

"No!" All three of them shouted at once, leaving the poor Gryffindor utterly confused.

"It was really an accident," Roger clarified. "I _did_ challenge John to a duel. That's John, by the way." He nodded at the Slytherin, who raised a hand to wave while still keeping his eyes down. "And I'm Roger. The tall one with the crazy hair is Brian."

"Crazy hair?" Brian asked.

"Freddie," The Gryffindor said.

"Anyway, he didn't mean to. Or, I guess he did at the time," Roger said, scratching his chin. "But he feels bad about it, and it'd be really awesome if you _didn't_ tell anyone he did it? We told the staff that I accidentally cursed myself."

"Even though Roger would _never_ be able to pull off a curse _that advanced,_ " John said. There! He'd told somebody. He felt much better now. "...Sorry, Roger."

"Oh, no, you're right."

"The staff doesn't _know_ that though," Brian said. "And we'd rather nobody be expelled over this. We're dealing with it."

"Well, I know a thing or two about keeping curses secret," Freddie said. "Maybe this'll make you feel better, eh?" He hopped up on the sink, the old plumbing creaking under his weight. "I am one, you see. A curse, I mean, dears. So what you've got? It's nothing. You'll get used to it, I bet, so don't feel so bad."

"It's not nothing," Roger said. "My eyes are black holes. I've been scaring first-years all week, and someone just now told me I should look in a mirror. I mean, they're only like this at night, so I guess... I guess you're right. It's not so bad." He turned to look in the mirror again, turning his face this way and that. "It'll be amazing on Halloween." He looked at Brian, then John. "Why didn't _you_ guys tell me?"

"We, uh. Meant to?" Brian said. "Anyway, didn't you hear him?" He nodded at the Gryffindor.

"Freddie," Freddie said again.

"Right, Freddie. You can't _be_ a curse," Brian said. He rolled his eyes back, thinking. Then he muttered, "Unless you're the one-- May I?" He reached for Freddie's hair.

Freddie nodded. "I suppose. I was going to tell you anyway."

Brian tucked Freddie's long, black hair back, revealing both the intricate pattern of scales on the Gryffindor's jawline, as well as one severely mutilated ear. The edge was covered with green scar tissue. Brian quickly pulled away, and Freddie's hair fell back, covering the scales again.

"Me mum did that when I got my Hogwarts letter," Freddie said. "Thought I'd blend in more if I didn't have fish ears. I'm half-siren, you see. First week here, I accidentally started humming while I was walking between classes. I turn around, and there's a dozen people just... following me. Silently. Waiting for me to tell 'em what to do."

"Yeah," Roger said. "You're right, that's worse."

"Excellent," Freddie said. "I do like winning."

"I heard they'd admitted a creature into Hogwarts," Brian said.  
  
John only had time to say, "Oh, Brian, no."

With that simple statement, Freddie's entire demeanor shifted. It wasn't subtle at all - John definitely recognized the signs of an oncoming hurricane of anger, since he was prone to fits himself. Still, he couldn't find the words quickly enough to prevent the inevitable. "Listen very carefully, darling," Freddie said, as if about to go on a tirade.

Then, he began to sing.

It was a beautiful song, in beautiful tenor, with an undertone of something uncomfortable. It was a series of clicks and whistles that Freddie seemed to produce without meaning to, or without realizing it. Almost like whale or dolphin song. And it wasn't long before Roger's and Brian's faces were completely blank, devoid of any expression whatsoever. Freddie hopped off the sink and pointed at all three of them. "Now, you all stay until this wears off, then get to your dorms. Got it?"

Roger and Brian nodded obediently, expressions still slack.

"Good," Freddie said. He sighed - sadly, John thought - and headed for the door.

John caught his sleeve, and Freddie whipped around, meeting John's eyes with surprise.

"Are they going to be okay?" John asked.

"Er, yeah. It lasts a few minutes, darling, but they'll be fine. Why aren't you under?"

"Am I supposed to be?"

Freddie looked at the other two. Brian was actually slack-jawed and drooling. "Well, it's not selective. It just affects everyone who hears it. Or, I thought it did. Hm. Lemme try again."

John clapped a hand over Freddie's mouth, and glared. "None of that. You've already got them in a state. You want 'em brain-dead, too?" Still with his hand over Freddie's mouth, he looked past the boy's shoulder and tried, "Brian? Roger?"  
  
No answer. Not even a reaction.

Freddie pushed John's hand away. "But why aren't you...?"

"I don't know," John replied, curling his lip. "Why'd you do that to them, anyway? And you were just going to _leave them like that?_ Everyone thinks Slytherins are bad. This is just cruel."

"It wears off after a bit, I told you," Freddie said. "I mean, they'll be a bit fuzzy for a while, so that's why I told them to get to their dorms after. It's just hypnotism, you see. They wouldn't do anything against their own self-preservation, or I don't think they'd have let me into Hogwarts. I'm not a full siren." He turned to Brian, getting right up in his face and adding, "And I'm _not_ a _creature_."

Brian didn't even blink. It was quite disturbing.

"Is that it?" John said. "That's why you--what. Hypnotized them? With Brian, that's a compliment. His best subject is Care of Magical Creatures. I think he was kind of happy about maybe getting to know you better."  
  
John pushed past Freddie, giving Roger's shoulders a shake. "C'mon, Rog."  
  
"They won't listen to you, dear," Freddie said quietly. "Brian studies magical creatures?"

"He does. He knows practically everything about them, too."

"Oh." Freddie muttered. "Well. I'm. I'm a _being_ , first of all, if we're being technical. But, I'm sorry."

"Maybe tell him when this wears off," John said.

"Oh, he heard me. It's just that he can't do anything at the moment." Freddie turned to them and added, "Besides, I shouldn't be here when they snap out of it. They're probably terrified. Nod if you're terrified."

Roger nodded. Brian didn't.

John laughed. "Tell him to nod if he thinks this is the coolest thing in the world."

"Er, okay. Nod if you think this is cool."

Brian nodded.

"I told you," John said. "Magical creatures, magical beings. If you'd given them a chance..."

Freddie didn't say anything. He stared at Brian for a while, then turned his attention to Roger, putting his hand on Roger's cheek. Roger reached for it, and Freddie said, "Don't be scared. It'll wear off, I promise."

Roger nodded.

Freddie tried to remove his hand, but Roger held on, wrapping both his arms around Freddie's.

"Oh, wonderful," Freddie said.

"He's a hugger," John said. "Does this mean it's wearing off?"

"Yeah, if they're acting on their own. But... They won't be very good conversationalists when they snap out of it. Trust me on that."

John waved a hand in front of Brian's face, though the Ravenclaw didn't even blink. His eyes might have moved, just a bit, but he was still obediently staying put, waiting for the siren's spell to wear off. "They can hear everything we're saying?" John asked.

"That's the horror of Siren Song," Freddie said. "It's why humans don't like them. You're fully conscious as you're made to do things you don't want to do. If I was a full-blood siren, I could make them do anything. They wouldn't even question it. They wouldn't be able to." He turned to Brian and Roger again, stating for their benefit, "But I'm not. Like I said, this is no more than hypnotism. I couldn't make 'em follow me into the ocean and drown, if that's what you're worried about."

"Sounds to me like _you're_ the one that's worried about that," John said. "I mean, they haven't said a word. And apparently I'm immune, so."

"They're thinking it," Freddie said. "And I hoped... If I did this to them, they'd just stay away."

"Well, you're gonna have Brian following you around like a puppy now, so good job there," John said. He did feel a little bad, making fun of the Ravenclaw when he couldn't fight back. Still, it was true. Brian could talk for hours about dragons and hippogriffs and augureys. Why not sirens? "And it was Roger's idea to lie about who cursed him, so he's already forgiven you, I'm sure."

Freddie hopped up on the sink again, despite Roger's grip on his arm. With his free hand, he retrieved John's wand and handed it back to him. "Maybe this is fate, then, me meeting you three."

"Well, I don't believe in fate," John said. "But if you need friends, then I think you got yourself a few." He attempted to hop up on the sink as Freddie had done, but his arms weren't quite up to the task. Giggling, Freddie grabbed the back of his robe and hauled him up.

"Ugh, why did you have to be a Slytherin, though?" Freddie asked.

"Look, you're a Gryffindor. I feel the same way. I've a feeling I'm going to be hexing some people in my house silent when I'm seen hanging out with you." He shrugged. "House rivalries, though. They're all kind of pointless."

"Says the one who cursed a Hufflepuff."

"He had it coming."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roger nod.

"How much longer, you think?" John asked.

"Any second now, probably," Freddie snapped his fingers next to Brian's face, and the Ravenclaw actually blinked this time. "They're moving on their own, which is a good indication. It'll be tomorrow before they're themselves again though, I'm afraid. There's a sort of fuzziness that comes along after you break out of Siren's Song."

"Everything is pink and fluffy," Brian mumbled.

"I think I'm gonna get married," Roger said, dreamily.

"Welp. Here we go," Freddie said. "Let's get these two back to their dorms so they can sleep it off."

 

\---

 

"That's just the thing, darling. It's not something I can stop." Freddie took Brian's book away, scrunching his face up at the picture. "I know you mean well, but... I can't believe you're studying me."

"And we're not letting you cut him open," John added. "It's barbaric."

"I wasn't suggesting..." Brian snatched the book back and laid it out on the table. These people had absolutely no imagination whatsoever. Still, he felt bad, after offending Freddie. It wasn't the end of the world, but he hadn't expected the half-siren to be so vocal about his idea. In hind-sight, he should have. "We're wizards. If we can find a spell..."

"But I _like_ what I can do," Freddie said, tapping his chest with his fingers. "It's me. I mean, maybe it's a pain sometimes, but it's _fantastic_ defense, isn't it? Against... You know. Slytherins."

John elbowed him. "Not against me."

"Which isn't fair," Roger said. With the sun out, his eyes were bright yellow today, unless it turned cloudy, which it tended to do now and then. Then his eyes were silver. "It's a little frightening. I wish I was inane."

"Immune," Brian said. "You know the right word."

"I do, but it was still funny. Freddie laughed."

"I didn't, dear."

Roger shrugged. "You meant to."

Freddie tapped the picture. It was a mostly humanoid creature, with the tell-tale signs that it was something else entirely. Long, webbed ears, for example, and webbing between each of its fingers and toes. The latter was something Freddie never had to worry about, he'd said. "You know, they probably dissected a siren to get this much detail in the drawing."

Guiltily, Brian pushed the book away. "Well, these illustrations are hundreds of years old. I'm sure it wasn't, er... Related. Look, I'm just trying to help. Sirens are so badly understood..."

Brian sighed. "And I'm not helping. I'm sorry, it's just that-- The creatures I study don't... usually... I'm going to stop now before I shove my other foot into my mouth, too." He put his head down on the table, stifling a groan.

Freddie patted his shoulder. "Oh, come now, Brian. It just frazzles you so, when you think I'm angry."

"You're not?"

"No! Of course not. I'm the center of attention. It's right where I ought to be."

"Prat," Brian said. He reached for the book, but Roger climbed up onto the table, lifting it from his reach.

"So your ears looked like this?" he asked.

"Smaller, but all sorts of colors." Freddie smiled sadly, and sighed. "They'd sparkle in the sun."  
  
"Well, we would have been your friends anyway," Roger said.

"I know, that's what makes it so tragic that they're gone." He rested an elbow on the table, and lay his head in his hand. "It would have been too much of a risk, though. I mean, the houses barely get along sometimes."  
  
Roger turned another few pages in the book. "Green blood, too?"

Freddie nodded. "Oh, that's the coolest part. Look here." He searched around on the table until he found a splinter, and pried it loose with his fingernails. Holding up a thumb, he gave his skin a light stab.

It wasn't exactly _green._ More like a muddy greenish-brown. Still, very odd, and very cool. "Don't touch, though," Freddie said. "It'll burn."

"Sirens sound wonderful," John muttered.

"They _are_ ," Freddie said, grabbing the book off Roger's knee. "I'm sure I could make some proper edits here and there. Make this chapter much less sensational. This is all fear-mongering stuff."

"So sirens _don't_ lure people to their deaths?" Roger asked.

Brian couldn't help it. He held his breath, while John stared at Roger with surprise. Both of their expressions must have said what words couldn't - how could Roger possibly say something like that, with Freddie sitting _right there?_ And poor Freddie looked distinctly uncomfortable, glancing away. Realizing he was still holding the book, he tossed it on the table, which echoed thunderously through the hall.  
  
"Freddie," Roger said.

Freddie held out his hand, stood, and retreated to the door.

Roger started to stand. Brian reached for his wrist, taking it and shaking his head. " _Are_ you actually an idiot?" Brian asked. "Because sometimes I don't think you actually..."

Freddie appeared directly in front of his face, smiling. Brian squeaked, nearly falling backward off the bench, as Freddie laughed. "You know, it's incredibly difficult to walk off in a proper huff if no one follows and fawns over you. Were you three coming, or...?"

Roger arched his eyebrows. "Are _you_ an idiot?" he asked Brian, who was still trying to slow his pulse.  
  
"You did _not_ know he was going to do that!" he called after Roger and John. Standing, he hurried to catch up, too. "You didn't! Dammit, Freddie."

"You should have seen the look on your face, darling," Freddie said.

"I'm laughing," Brian replied, glaring at Roger and John. "They didn't know, either."  
  
"We were all in on it," Roger said. Brian elbowed him a little harder than intended. Roger guffawed through a pained "Ouch!" Which just caused John to start chuckling, too.

"They weren't, it just played out so well," Freddie said. "I do love you guys."

"I am sorry about the whole... luring people to their deaths thing," Roger said. "We were just chatting. I wasn't thinking."

"Oh, I'd be offended if it weren't true," Freddie said, his voice growing theatrically dangerous. "Most sirens don't like humans. The ocean is full of trash. Even my father wasn't fond."

"Is this a love story?" John asked. "If this is a romance, I have somewhere else to be."

"Oh, shut it. My dad's a perfect gentleman. Mum was on holiday. He saw her cleaning the beach. I think he was just curious at first, but then he had himself silenced so he could get to know her." Freddie smiled. "It's hard to stop a siren from singing, you know. He had to learn. But he figured it out eventually. It's sad, though. He has such a beautiful voice... I do wish mum could hear it."

"See? It's a romance," John said.

"Right, that's the point I was trying to make. Thank you, John."

John smirked. "You're welcome."

"What I'm saying is that... Maybe it worked for my dad, being silenced. But I don't want to be. I want to be able to talk to you guys. I haven't had friends in years, and, well, I've got a lot to say."

They passed through the great hall to the outside. John and Freddie walked ahead, with Roger and Brian following. As the others chatted, Brian put his head down, hands in his pockets. How had he even thought that silencing anyone was a good solution to anything? Perhaps it would work for an animal... You could silence one of the louder ones and it would barely care. Somehow, he thought Freddie might even appreciate the idea, but now that he really considered it, Brian knew he wouldn't want to lose his voice, either. He was just trying to help. Good intentions.  
  
Good intentions often led down the worst roads.

"Oh, what, are you having a sulk now?" Freddie asked. "Come on, Brian, it's fine."  
  
"No, it's not," Brian said, holding up a hand before Freddie could protest. "But it can be. Let me make it up to you. If I study a bit, I bet I can figure out how to heal your ears."

His eyes brightened, and he smiled. Brian wondered if it was the first genuine reaction he'd ever seen from the Gryffindor. "You think you could?"  
  
He didn't answer right away, and Freddie's face fell, just a little. Quickly, Brian said, "Maybe. I don't know. Healing charms are some of the most advanced there are, and, um." He trailed off, looking toward a small hut in the distance. "I hate to suggest, this after what we were just talking about, but you are a magical _being..."_

Freddie followed his eyes. "Hagrid, you think?" He seemed to be weighing the possible indignity of accidentally ending up in one of Hagrid's pens. "I really did like my ears... Okay. Yes. Definitely." The smile returned, and he gave Brian's shoulder a pat. "Let's go then!"

"What, now?"

"We've the time!" Freddie said.

What else could Brian do, but follow?

Except, he realized, he really couldn't do anything else. He wasn't moving on his own, although he was certainly following. Not because he meant to, but because he was being compelled. As soon as Freddie set off for Hagrid's hut, he'd begun to hum a little happy tune, which in turn, affected Brian. He couldn't look over to see if Roger was affected, too, but the Hufflepuff was keeping up, silently.

"Freddie-- shit, _Freddie!"_ John finally exclaimed, after a quick glance behind him.

Freddie stopped. Brian stopped.

Freddie turned, confused, and realization dawned. He covered his face with his hands, muttering something completely unintelligible. Since his attention was entirely focused on the half-siren, Brian could almost see the conversation playing out in Freddie's mind, even though he said nothing. "This is so frustrating," he finally mumbled. "I didn't mean to do this again, guys."

Brian couldn't do anything. Couldn't say a word of reassurance or even move his eyes. They were locked onto Freddie. Everything the Gryffindor did caught Brian's attention. He was stuck.

It was truly amazing how quickly it worked, though. Freddie couldn't have been humming for more than a few seconds before John caught him. But even then, it was too late. Amazing magic, and completely innate, too. No need for a wand or a potion or a scroll.  
  
"There's nothing we can do, either," Freddie went on, pacing back and forth a few steps. "What I should do is tell them to stay away from me. S'what I should do. In fact..."  
  
Freddie turned to them Brian wished he could call out, tell him _no,_ that they'd figure something out. But it was John who wrapped an arm around Freddie's neck, lowering a hand over his mouth again.  
  
Thank Merlin.  
  
Freddie looked... perturbed.

Brian saw John smiling.

"Freddie, it's hypnotism," John said. "Right? That's how it works."  
  
"Essentially," Freddie replied. His voice was higher, distraught. "I can't keep doing this to them, though. Harmless or not, it can't be comfortable to-- Well, _look at them!"_  
  
Brian did feel himself drooling again. That was embarrassing.

"I've always called this the suggestion phase. Right now, I could literally tell them to behave like chickens for the rest of their lives, and they might do it." Freddie quickly amended, "I wouldn't, guys. Promise."

"You said 'might,'" John observed.

"Right. Because eventually it'd go against their sense of self-preservation and they'd stop. At least, I think so. I'd hope so." He paused, rubbing his chin. "Roger, though..."

"Huh," John said. "Hang on."

Brian wanted to see what John was doing as he ducked out of sight, but he was entirely focused on Freddie. Whenever Freddie moved, so did Brian's eyes. He was waiting for a suggestion, he realized. Waiting to be told what to do. But he was still //there.// Still conscious. Really, it was a wonder they let Freddie into Hogwarts at all. His song was a watered-down version of the Imperious Curse!

Poor kid. He looked so worried now.  
  
He heard the scratching of a quill on parchement. John must have been writing, then he stood, holding a scrap of paper out to Freddie. "Tell me this won't work."

Freddie read it over. "Well, you've certainly accounted for everything. I don't know. I can try."

"Go on, then."  
  
"Should I just read it?"

"Like I wrote it," John said. "I think I've covered all the loopholes."

"Okay." Freddie nodded, holding the paper in front of him. "Brian May and Roger Taylor. Next time I say 'now', if you hear my song, you're to behave entirely normally, how you would if I wasn't singing at all. From this point forward, my song has no effect on you whatsoever, but you're to remember this suggestion." He paused, then added, "Do you understand?"

Brian felt himself nod.

Freddie looked at John, who nodded.

Freddie said, "Now."

And the curse fell away. Not slowly, like before, but immediately. Brian barely had time to reach out as the grass jumped up to meet his face. No, that was wrong. He'd fallen. Grunting, he rubbed his head, which was still a little fuzzy. Again, not nearly as bad as before.  
  
"Ooh, that's going to freak me out every time it happens," Roger muttered. "That's bloody scary."  
  
"Hopefully it doesn't have to?" Freddie suggested, crouching in front of them.  
  
"It's genius, if it works," Brian said. "Go on, then. Sing something."  
  
"What? Now? Already? You've just come out of it!" Freddie looked at Roger, who'd grown very still at the suggestion.  
  
"Yes," Roger said. "Do it while I’m expecting it. Better if I know it's comin'."

Freddie gave them one last Look, as if they were both daft, and he sang.

It wasn't like the last times. It wasn't beautiful and otherworldly, nor did it melt over him and wrest control of his mind before he realized what was happening. As Freddie sang, Brian felt a certain fuzzy feeling behind his eyes, but when he looked down and checked if he could still move his fingers, he found he wasn't _stuck_ like before. This time, there was something under the song that Brian hadn't heard previously, which was almost grating. It was high-pitched and whiny, borderline unpleasant.  
  
Freddie trailed off, and Brian shrugged, glancing over at Roger.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Roger said. "That was terrible, though. What'd you do to your voice?"

Freddie actually cried. His eyes were wide - stunned and almost wild - as a giant grin broke out across his face. He paced a step or two, before throwing his arms around John and sobbing into his shoulder.

"Oh, go on," John said, embarrassed. "It was no more complex then figuring out a puzzle."

Freddie backed away, laughing, then turned and threw himself at Brian and Roger, knocking them all to the grass. John knelt next to them, putting his hand on Freddie's shoulder. No one said anything. Nothing needed to be said.

 

\---

 

"Here, look. You see?" Brian asked, pointing to a passage in his Potions book. "There's a big difference between clockwise and counter-clockwise. That's why your cauldron exploded."

Roger was still wiping soot off his face. "Thanks, Bri. I'll do my best to forget that next time, too."

"You're hopeless," Freddie said. He pulled his hand into his sleeve and leaned forward on the table, cleaning the grime from Roger's forehead. The Hufflepuff's eyes were silver again today... Very clearly not purple, which suited Freddie just fine. Rain played havoc with his hair. Still, he could have used a bit to clean the remains of potion off the poor boy's face.

"Thanks, mum," Roger said, grinning. Freddie rolled his eyes.

Brian closed the potions book, shaking his head, and handed it back to Roger. "Anyway, I did talk to Hagrid, Freddie. Turns out there's specific healing spells for sea-creatures -- beings, sorry -- Sirens and mer-people and the like." He dug around in his bag, pulling out an old, leather-bound volume. "We'll have to adapt them for you, since you're half-human. But I'll be working with Hagrid to make it happen."

Freddie smiled, rubbing at the rough edges of his ears. "Docking them seemed like a good idea at the time, but I wish I hadn't." He looked over at John, who was uncharacteristically silent, and quite tense. "You all right?"

John tapped his fingers on the table, eyes darting around the courtyard.

"John?" Freddie tried again.

"I'm fine. Not feeling well, though. I think I might go have a nap before Astronomy."

He stood without another word - not even a goodbye - and marched off toward the school with purpose.

"He's been like that for the past few days," Roger mused. "I think hanging out with us lesser houses is finally getting to him."

"You don't really think that?" Brian asked.

"No, not really," Roger said, wrinkling his nose. "But he did say something the other day that makes me think the other Slytherins are being prats."

"That whole house is terrible. Like they don't understand You-Know-Who is gone," Freddie said.

"Some of 'em are okay." Brian glanced around at some of the younger green-robed students. "I think there's probably pressure on them from the sixth and seventh years to... ah... Stay with their own."

"Imagine if they knew John was hanging out with a mermaid, too," Roger said.

"Once again," Freddie said, "Siren. Not mermaid. Sirens are much prettier."

"You're so ugly, though." Roger practically beamed with glee, barely ducking out of the way as Freddie swiped at him. He'd really walked right into that one. For all Roger acted like an idiot, he was awfully quick with a joke.

"You're still compensating for asking me to marry you. That's what you're doing." Freddie knew the comment hit home when Roger blushed. "Oh, don't be embarrassed. You're not the first."

"I almost did," Brian admitted. "Of course, I have half an ounce of sense."

"This is not Pick-on-Roger day," Roger muttered. "I checked my calendar this morning."

"He starts it, then he can't take it," Brian explained. "Anyway, we better get to class-- " He went to check his watch, and found it wasn't there.

Roger held it up. "Nabbed it while you had your giant nose stuck in my Potions book."

 _"Give me that,_ you little thief." Brian snatched it out of the air, strapping it back around his wrist. "My nose is just fine. And you're terrible."

"Eh, I know." Roger shrugged, stood, and stretched. "Sorry, Freddie, Arithmancy calls."

"Sounds dreadful," Freddie replied.

"It is. Brian _loves_ it."

They argued as they left, and Freddie put his head down on the table. He had noticed things that Brian and Roger hadn't. Slytherins looking in their direction, curling their lips and wrinkling their noses. If he noticed it, John definitely had. And it wasn't all of them, to be fair. Just a select few, definitely older students, who probably hadn't and wouldn't have a true friendship in their whole lives.  
  
Freddie couldn't say he hated purebloods or Slytherins, though. John was all right. In fact, he really owed a lot to John. If the rest of his house was like him, Hogwarts sure would be a better place.

"Can't believe I'm doing this," he said, pushing himself to his feet.

He wandered back into the school, turned left, and descended into the dark. He really was taking his life in his hands, venturing into the Slytherin dungeons. He did life living life on the edge, but this was dreary to the point of being ridiculous. Maybe Slytherins were so characteristically grumpy because it was so foul down here.  
  
But, Freddie would brave the cobwebs and giant spiders - seriously, _why were there giant spiders? -_ if it meant making sure John was okay.

At the foot of the steps, water pooled in old, cracked cobblestone. It stunk like mold and death, the walls so crumbled that it seemed like they could collapse at any moment, crushing all the students who lived down here.

Hopefully, their house was better than this. He'd have to have words with John.

Also, Freddie hated dirt.

As he was silently bemoaning the dust on the hem of his robe, he heard a soft sobbing.

Narrowing his eyes, Freddie ducked behind a thick column and peered into the dark. When the three figures weren't looking, he sneaked forward again, crouching behind a crumbling partition. Hidden by shadow, he could almost sit right out in the open to watch them, as they gathered around a fourth figure on his hands and knees, shivering on the damp floor.  
  
It was John.

"Aw, he's crying now," one of the voices mocked.

"Good," said another.

" _Furnunculus_ ," the first voice said.

Their victim screamed and whimpered. Freddie wanted to run to him, but there was no way he could fight his way through three nearly-graduated Slytherins, as oily and wiry as they were.

"Just make sure no one's coming," Another voice said. "I think we got at least another twenty minutes before anyone comes down here."

Freddie heard another set of footsteps, then John sobbed again.

Freddie peered around the partition again. Now that the third Slytherin was gone, he could see John much more clearly. Huddled on the floor, the second-year cradled his hand, which had erupted with a hundred boils. Someone definitely used the antlers jinx on him, too, as his hair was stacked and stretched unnaturally into characteristic pronged horns. With John's long hair, he had quite an impressive set. In fact, his head was bent forward, unable to support their weight.

"Careful. Don't do anything that's gonna get us in trouble," The second voice said.

"I know. It'd serve him right, hanging out with... " the first voice trailed off, then said, "Don't, by the way. You're lucky we're not doing worse. Hey!"

Freddie heard the sound of a boot colliding with ribs.

"I said, _don't._ Did you hear me?"

John sniffled.

Freddie hadn't ever used his voice as a weapon before. At least, not like he was thinking of using it. Still, he began to sing the words of an old song, hoping immunity to his voice wasn't a common Slytherin trait.

 _"The breeze in Scotland bends the trees_  
The trees refuse to break  
The Wind blows waves onto the shore  
Destruction in its wake  
Soon all is left in ruins  
The trees, the land, and man  
The Siren lives and stands alone  
Their death, his only plan."

He waited for them to come running, to find him, to hex him like they did to John, but it was silent, except for the whimpering. He looked around the partition again, finding three older Slytherin students staring at him blankly. John was staring at the floor, his antlers resting on it. Now and again, he sobbed quietly.

Confident they wouldn't be able to break out of the song's spell, Freddie hurried forward, kneeling next to John. He looked bad, face contorted in pain. "It's okay, I'm here now."

John just whimpered.

"John?" Freddie said.

The boy tried to lift his head, but couldn't. Freddie took his wand out, and aimed at an antler. "Your hair's gonna be shorter for a while, but it's better than not being able to walk, yeah?" Given that he couldn't think of the counter-jinx, he opted to sever both antlers with a charm. They clattered to the floor, and John finally looked up, his eyes wide. "It's okay now, right? You're okay?"

John still said nothing. He was terrified. Still, he looked down at his hand, which looked like an angry red lump of blood and pus. "We'll get you up to Pomfrey. Get that taken care of."

He still had to deal with the other Slytherins. "I hate your whole bloody house, John. Seriously. You lot." He looked up, addressing the boys. "You ever do this again... You ever bother him again..."

Could he do this? It was stepping over a line... Appealing to their self-preservation while robbing them of a choice. "Don't hurt him ever again. If you do, I'll kill you."

They nodded stupidly.

"And... And you're to forget I was here. You're to forget it was me. Go-- Go back to your dorms now. Stay there 'til tomorrow."

Freddie actually felt sick.

But he could think about that later. "You think you can walk?" he asked. John nodded, pushing himself to his feet with the hand that wasn't cursed. "Good. Good, we'll get you upstairs."

It was a long way to go with no one seeing them. But he didn't want to leave John down in the cold dungeon while he went to fetch someone. Thankfully, the sight of a Gryffindor tugging an injured Slytherin along by half an antler was just too much of a puzzle for some people to grasp, so they were left alone all the way up to the infirmary.

Once there, Pomfrey greeted them with, "You? Again?"

Freddie had no idea what that was about. "I found him in the dungeon. He was attacked." He couldn't say what he'd done to the students who attacked him, though. It was horrible, robbing someone of their free will. Plus, he was still afraid that someone would find out, even though he'd told the Slytherins to forget.

"Attacked?" Pomfrey said. "Did you see who?"

"No, I don't know the Slytherins," Freddie said. "And besides, I only saw their backs."

Another lie.

"Can you help him?"

"Of course," Madam Pomfrey said. "Of course. You run along now, though. The furnunculus curse takes much longer to heal than a broken wrist."

Freddie nodded, weakly making his way out of the infirmary and sitting down on the top step just outside.

That's where Roger and Brian found him an hour later.

"He didn't say anything. That was the scary part," Freddie said, after he'd told the story. "All the way upstairs, he just..."

"Poor kid," Roger said. "It's okay, we'll figure out who it was."

"I might have left that part out," Freddie said, looking at his hands. "I mean, they'll ... They'll definitely leave him alone now. We don't have to figure out who it was."

For all he tried to forget it, Freddie could remember each of their staring, blank faces as if he'd known them his whole life.

"Freddie, what'd you do?" Brian asked.

"I told them... If they ever hurt John again, I'd kill them. Then I told them to forget who I was." Freddie wouldn't look up. He couldn't bear it if Roger and Brian were judging him. "And they have no reason to believe I can't kill them, since they don't know what I can do."

"What's wrong with that?" Roger asked. "Sounds pretty smart to me."

"Under the circumstances..." Brian said. "It sounds like you did the right thing."

"Yeah, but taking away their free will..." Freddie started, but Brian held out a hand, cutting him off.

"You took away their ability to hurt someone. Bugger their free will. If they're going to go after John because he's friends with you, I say you did the right thing."

Roger nodded.

Freddie only felt marginally better. It was one thing to agree with what he did. It was another thing entirely to have done it. "If I can do _that_ , what's to stop me from telling someone to jump off the top of the owlery, or I'll kill 'em?"

"There's nothing," Brian said. "But that's not who you are, is it?"

"Of course it's not," Roger said, smiling. His eyes were silver now, turning slowly purple as it prepared to rain. "Think about what you did, Fred. How old were they? Sixth? Seventh year? You took out all of 'em by singing. You might have saved John's life."

"I don't think they would have killed him," Freddie said.

"Still," Brian said. "You did good. Nothing about what you did is remotely bad."

"Guys?"

They turned around to find John standing just outside the infirmary door. The antlers were gone now, though his hair was much shorter and puffy, almost cloud-like. There was a nasty bruise under one eye, and his hand was bandaged. "Did you wait here for me?"

"Of course," Freddie said. "These two found me after class."

John sat down on the step next to Freddie, and leaned on his shoulder. "I'm so tired," he said. Freddie put his arm around him.

John did seem so much younger than the others just then. He was small, even for a second-year, and at the moment, he was even quieter than usual. To think that other people from his house - sixth or seventh years at that, Freddie was sure - could attack him so viciously that he'd stop talking entirely --

"Sorry I didn't say anything earlier. They silenced me, too," John said.

Oh.

Freddie hugged him close. "Well, good, that scared me a bit. I thought..."

John smiled. "I'm tougher than I look."

"I wish we could appeal for you to change houses," Brian said. "I'm sure Ravenclaw would be an excellent fit for you..."

"They won't bother me anymore," John said. Freddie detected a note of pride in the second-year's voice, and it made all his worries evaporate. "Will they, Fred?"

"No, they won't," Freddie replied. "What about the others, though?"

"I can deal with the others," John said. "First thing they did was snap my wand. I'll have to write Ollivander for a new one." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "They won't catch me off guard again, trust me."

"Temper," Roger said.

John reached around Freddie and gave Roger a shove.

"Just be careful," Brian said. "You've got five n' a half years to go here. Don't get yourself expelled."

"Listen to him," Roger said. "Or at least be sneaky about it. How are you with potions?"

John smiled. It was an almost evil smile, quite fitting of a Slytherin, Freddie thought. Still, under the circumstances, he supposed that was all right.

 

\---

 

It wasn't until after Christmas that they all learned the true meaning behind John's sinister smile.  
  
Since they got to know each other, they switched back and forth between sitting at the Hufflepuff or Gryffindor table during lunch. Not everyone was in the Great Hall at that time, which meant the other students didn't mind if they sat together. Sure, dinner was another story, with every sat being filled, but Lunch seemed to be fair game.

"I think it's a good idea," Freddie said. "Our seventh year, like you said. And John's sixth."

"Staying for the holiday," Brian said to confirm. "The whole thing."  
  
"It's enough time to warn our families," Roger said. "I think we should all be together one Christmas. It'll be nice. Gives me an idea, in fact."

"Your ideas are dangerous," John pointed out.  
  
"This one's harmless. Probably."  
  
John pointed at Roger. Brian waved a hand. "He'll forget by then. Don't worry."

"I won't," Roger said. "How dare you. Anyway, what'd you guys get for Christmas from me?"

Brian laughed. Of course, Roger already knew that. "You just want to be thanked. Guys, he sent me a sketchbook with a bunch of horrible drawings of magical creatures in it."  
  
Roger beamed.  
  
"He sent me a muggle book about anger management," John said. "It made nice kindling."  
  
"You didn't," Brian said.  
  
"He did," Roger said. "Thankfully..." He reached into his pocket, pulling out another copy, presenting it to John, who rolled his eyes. "I've got thirteen more, so if anymore of them fall into the fire somehow, you just let me know."  
  
"Right," John said.  
  
"Oh, Freddie sent me these," Brian said. He pointed under the table, where his feet were comfortably embraced in fake pink fur. "Apparently I said that everything was pink and fluffy the first time I came out of his trance?"  
  
"You did," Freddie said. "I couldn't think of anything more fitting."  
  
"I hate to interrupt," John said, "And I know I didn't send anything this year, but I swear, I was working on something special." Reaching across the table, he checked Brian's watch. "It'll be any second now. Just watch the Slytherin table."

Curious, Brian turned to watch. So did the others.  
  
"Any second," John said again.  
  
To no one's surprise, all the Slytherins sat together, crowding one section of their table, despite the fact that there was plenty of room elsewhere.

"And... now," John said.  
  
Not _all_ the Slytherins, but a good number of them, rose from their seats at the same time. Some of them were clutching their backsides as they fled, amid the confused stares of the other students.  
  
"Happy Christmas," John said.  
  
Roger non-subtly pulled another couple copies of the anger management book out of his pocket, and placed them in front of John.

John just smiled.


	2. Hogsmeade in September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half a year after the events of In His Eyes, John steals everyone's candy in Hogsmeade. Oh, and Freddie has some sort of premonition. IDK. Couldn't possibly mean anything.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, but Roger's eyes weren't purple. That meant - for now at least - the rain would hold off.

"It's my opinion, darling, and it's definitely the right one." Freddie crossed his arms, sticking out his lower lip.  
  
"You can't have a _right_ opinion," Roger laughed. "I mean, if I said that it was my opinion that we should be able to come to Hogsmeade every day--"

"I'd say it's a wonderful idea! So it's right! See?"   
  
Roger paused in the middle of arguing, mouth just slightly agape, before he said, "Well, I guess I can't argue with that logic."

"Exactly." Freddie nodded, chin raised, hands resting on the table. "Anyway, it's dreadful that I _just_ miss my birthday at home _every year_ because we're back at school. If only Hogwarts could have held off for another four days. It's not like a whole castle is going to go anywhere." He looked around the Three Broomsticks, curling his lip. "And you'd think they could have spruced the place up a bit, what with me having a birthday and all!"

"Normally, no one goes to Hogsmeade for a couple months," Brian said. "This is a special circumstance. Maybe they just weren't ready for you to grace their tables."

"See, he gets it," Freddie said, haughtily sticking his nose in the air. He gave his curly-haired Ravenclaw friend an approving smile, though Brian was no longer paying attention. His nose was back in the pages of his most recent acquisition - a book that would, no doubt, put most sane people to sleep. "Well, I suppose that explanation will have to do. But it's not every day a boy turns my age, you know. It's a very important year."

Hogsmeade in September, though! The early trip, plus the fact that all students were instructed to bring their dress robes with them at the start of the semester, had many speculating about what might be planned. It all surely meant something exciting.

Roger rested both elbows on the table, leaning forward with his chin in his hands. He had a half-smirk on his face, silver eyes shining with mischief. The Hufflepuff's eyes always disturbed Freddie a little, though with his curse, he couldn't exactly help it. They changed color with the weather. "Are we talking mental or physical age?" Roger asked.

"Mental, of course."

"So... Five, then."

"Approximately."

"Oh, just shut up and enjoy John's first visit to Hogsmeade," Roger scoffed. "Lookit him. You'd never know there was an evil genius behind that adorable face." Reaching over, he pinched John's cheek, as the third-year peered into a nearly empty mug of butterbeer.   
  
Of all his friends, Freddie found John to be the _least_ likely that he'd get along with, being Slytherin and all. That particular house didn't tend to get along with Freddie's own Gryffindor. But while John had a temper and a penchant for cursing people who, frankly, deserved it, Freddie found he really did like the kid. He just had a few issues to work out.

"I'll bite your fingers off, Roger," John said cheerfully, flashing a very uncharacteristic smile.

Roger gestured to John with both hands. "Exhibit A."

"And B through Z as well," Freddie said. "How much candy did you have, darling?"

John narrowed his eyes, thinking.

"Well, when you have to think about it, it's too much," Freddie said. "He'll be bouncing off the walls for the next week. I can't believe nobody stopped him."  
  
Roger arched his eyebrows, holding up a finger. Ducking under the table, he drew up a paper bag, placing it in the midst of the four of them. "This was _my_ Honeyduke's bag," he said. "As you can see, it's nearly empty."

"Well, you shouldn't leave things where I can reach them," John said, peering down his nose. He grabbed the bag before Roger could rescue it, adding it to his rather impressive hoard. "Now this is mine, too, and it's your own fault."

Roger grumbled, "Guys, do you mind if we go back to Honeydukes?"   
  
"You shouldn't spend all your money on candy," Brian said, finally closing the book. "Get yourself some reading material instead."

"John stole your candy, too, didn't he?" Roger asked.   
  
Brian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He did. Still, I'm not going to be jealous. I mean it, this book is amazing. Advanced spellcasting. Potions I've never heard of. You should try to broaden your horizons."  
  
"He's definitely jealous," Freddie chuckled, smiling. When John held up another bag, Freddie narrowed his eyes and checked the bench beside him, finding one bag conspicuously missing "You little arse. That's _mine._ How did you even get that?"

"I can't tell you all my secrets."

"I'm ninety percent sure he's mastered silent spellcasting at the age of bloody thirteen, and he's been performing summoning spells all day." Roger's eyes were turning an ugly mish-mash of grey and purple now, which meant...

"Oh, heavens, it's going to rain," Freddie said. "If we're going back to Honeydukes, we should start walking. I don't have an umbrella."

Roger beamed. " _So_ glad I can be your human barometer."  
  
They paid for their butterbeer, and started back up the road to the candy store. On the way, John showed them how to cast an easy little spell on small objects to make them harder to summon. Not impossible, he said, but at least the person in question would know they were being robbed. Freddie thought that was mighty sporting. Roger suggested that it was just because John was starting to feel sick and wanted to make sure he couldn't thieve anymore sugar from anyone.

Of course, he could have just stopped, Freddie suggested.

"Look," John said. "My parents aren't exactly the type to keep sugar quills and biscuits around the house. I've never had access to this much power. Merlin. I feel like I could run ten kilometers."   
  
"Oh, parents," Roger said fondly. "You know, my dad's a wizard, and he _always_ keeps candy around the house. I think being up your own backside is pretty much a Slytherin thing."

John glowered.   
  
"It's not," Brian said. "My parents won't keep the stuff. Well, biscuits now and then, and pastries, but they're both muggles, not Slytherins. Hah, you should have seen them when Professor Akadia delivered my letter!"  
  
"Delivered?" John asked. "You didn't get it by owl?"

"No. Since my parents had no idea about magic, they delivered it by hand. For a while, I didn't think they were going to let me go." He shrugged. "It explained a lot about all the weird things that would happen around me when I was younger, though. I think that's what helped them make their decision. Better to learn how to do it properly, I suppose."  
  
"Well, sometimes my da rubs sugar on fish and tells me it's an old siren treat," Freddie said. "I don't believe him."

"Aaaand you definitely shouldn't," Roger muttered. "Never. Ever. Not in a billion years. That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard."

"Agreed," Said John.  
  
"Same," said Brian.

"So glad we can agree on something, once in a while," Freddie said. "A horrible snack that even transcends the limits of house rivalries. We're truly blessed."   
  
As they passed the Quidditch shop, Freddie grabbed the back of Roger's shirt to keep him from stopping. Unfortunately, no one could stop him from looking - and whining - at the window for at least the tenth time that day. "Oh, c'mon, guys!" he begged. "Let's just go in for a minute! They have the dragonhide gloves with the _dyed scales_ and they dye them your _house colors...!"_

"Candy, then back to Hogwarts before it rains," Freddie said. "We're on a mission! Besides, you just joined the team last year. Your gloves must be practically brand new."   
  
"But they aren't _those,"_ Roger grumped. "Come on, let's just go in for a minute."

"No, you told me to make sure we didn't," Freddie said. "You remember, you said very specifically..." Freddie turned to face the Hufflepuff, and completely forgot what he was going to say. He tilted his head, trying to figure out if what he was seeing was just a trick of the light. "Uh, Brian, do you see this?" he asked.

"What? What do you see?" Roger asked, the gloves forgotten.

Brian and John both squished in next to Freddie, looking into Roger's eyes.

"You see it, too?" Freddie asked. "I'm not just imagining things?"

"Oh, I see it," Brian said.   
  
"Somebody tell me!" Roger demanded.

"Your eyes are red, darling," Freddie said.

"Gryffindor red," John added.

Roger turned back to the shop window, looking _at_ the glass this time, instead of through it. Tilting his head up just a little so he could catch the light, he said, "huh. I've never seen that before."

Freddie also watched Roger's reflection as he turned this way and that, getting a better view of his eyes. The glass was reflective enough, given how dark the sky had gotten over the past hour. As Roger practically pressed his nose against it, Freddie turned to look at the clouds.   
  
"You think we ought to head back?" Brian asked.

"I'd say that's wise," Freddie replied.  
  
"We should stay," John argued, backing toward the door to the Quidditch shop. He pointed to the west, where the sky roiled angrily. "We could even head back to the Three Broomsticks and wait it out. It'll catch us before we get back to the castle."

Roger looked away from the glass, glancing at his friends for only a moment before his attention was pulled to the sky. Freddie felt a chill completely unrelated to the weather as he realized that Roger's eyes were an even brighter red than they'd been seconds before.

The wind snapped Freddie's hair against his face as the first hints of rain began to fall. And then he felt it... Like an electric buzz that ran from his head to his toes, just before--

Lightning struck, arching through the sky above them. Freddie reached out, pulling his friends in toward him, for all the good it would do. At least they were under the shop's cloth awning. Even so, he waited for the pain that should follow such a close strike, but when he opened his eyes, he found the bolt bouncing across the shop roofs and off into the distance, where it dissipated safely away from other people. Thank Merlin for magical lightning rods.

Everyone ran at once.

Thankfully, they all seemed to have John's last suggestion on their minds. As other students panicked around them, ducking into whatever shop was closest, Roger, Brian, Freddie, and John raced back toward the Three Broomsticks. The rain caught them before they made it. By the time they pushed open the door and scrambled inside, they were soaked.

Brian's curls were no longer curls. The strait locks hung down in the bedraggled Ravenclaw's face as he tried to catch his breath, one hand on his chest. "Where'd that storm come from?" he asked.

"Oh, they've been talkin' about it since this mornin'," the barkeep said. "Thought it'd get here sooner, come to think of it. Nasty weather around here this time of year. Stay there. I'll get you boys some towels."   
  
John wrung out his hair on the floor.

Freddie turned toward the window, watching the clouds gather above them, like black cotton candy. Each one of them moved and turned and folded in on itself in a way he'd only seen once before. "Albatross clouds," he said.

The barkeep handed them some small towels. At least they'd be able to sop up the worst of the rain. "What'd you say?" Roger asked.  
  
"Albatross clouds. S'what my da calls them," Freddie said. "Just... The way they look. I guess you'd have to know. He says that when you see them, it always means something's about to happen."

The charmed towels held more water than expected. They pulled the water right out of their clothes and hair, though Brian's poor mane couldn't be helped. His ringlets looked more like squiggles as he tried to dry them, and they refused to bounce back to their former splendor.

"You kids sit," the barkeep said. "I imagine we'll get a few more people in here. Good time to own a tavern, I'll tell you that!"

He toddled off toward the bar as the boys found a table. Not long after they sat down, a round of butterbeers appeared before them.

"What's an albatross have to do with clouds?" Brian asked. He rubbed the towel through his hair again, with no success.   
  
"I didn't say it made sense," Freddie said. "Just... That's what da calls them. He says they're predictive, and rare if you manage to catch a glimpse. And it's all based on... Well, I guess I don't know, dear. I saw them once, just before I got my Hogwarts letter. I don't usually put much stock in divination, but the timing... Well, it couldn't have been coincidence."  

John draped his towel around his shoulders, looking out the window. "It's just a storm. This is the time for them." A peal of thunder cracked so loudly above them that it rattled the shop window. Despite his attempts to act composed, John nearly jumped into Freddie's lap. "Besides, everyone's seen them. _Something_ can't be about to happen to everyone here."

No, not everyone. Of course, not everyone felt them like Freddie did. He knew so little about his siren heritage. "I'll have to send an owl home. Maybe they're meant for me."

Roger laughed, giving Freddie a light shove. "Oh, you're so full of yourself. An entire storm, just for you? Is this your birthday present?"  
  
Freddie did sit a little taller at the thought. "And how do you know it's not, darling? With all that complaining I did, it could be that Triton himself sent me a little pick-me-up."

"Or something to shut you up, is more like it."

Freddie did his best to look offended. It just made Roger giggle.

"It's bad luck to kill an albatross," Brian mused. "'Rime of the Ancient Mariner.' It's a poem. You don't think he got it from that?"

Freddie shrugged. He wasn't sure how one would proceed to kill a cloud.  
  
Outside, students and residents alike all scrambled for cover. Some ran up the path to the castle, their hoods pulled over their heads. Many more ran into the Three Broomsticks, and the barkeep was ready with a warm, enchanted towel for each of them. It wasn't long before the tavern filled up with students from all houses, mingling and chatting like old friends. Their robe colors hardly mattered.  
  
The rain continued coming down in sheets, but Roger's eyes soon faded from the bright, warning red to a friendlier purple.

"It's just something you can feel," Freddie said after the barkeep brought them another round. John was hugging his mug to his chest as he leaned against Freddie's shoulder. "I can't describe it. Maybe it's one of those siren things, you know?" It seemed odd that they didn't feel the same way. He very clearly felt a connection between the storm and the idea that something was about to happen. Terrible? Amazing? That, he couldn't say. But that was all part of the fun of life, wasn't it?

No one was listening to him anymore, in any case. Brian carefully pressed the charmed towel to the pages of his waterlogged book, while Roger chatted with a Gryffindor girl at the next table. John snored softly next to Freddie, his sugar rush long since worn off.

Freddie watched the clouds. He felt it, even if the others didn't.

He could say "I told you so" later. Of course, he'd have to figure out what the clouds heralded first.


	3. Gryffindor Versus Hufflepuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like writing Quidditch games. There's some big announcement about a thing happening in November. Roger's a hero and also a barometer.

Roger stood on his broom twenty meters above the pitch. He could see Brian frantically gesturing at him from the Ravenclaw bleachers to _sit down._  
  
Cheerfully waving, Roger pretended he didn't understand. After all, what was the point of being able to fly if you didn't also engage in a healthy dose of aerial tomfoolery? 

Oh, but what a horrible lecture he'd get if he fell off his broom and died. "I told you so," Brian would say to his grave. "I told you to sit, but did you listen? No. And now you're dead. I hope you're happy."

What a nag.

Besides, if Brian kept waving like he was, he might take flight himself, and that would just be weird. Acquiescing, Roger sat, although not without a good pout in Brian's direction.

The Slytherin bleachers weren't as full as Ravenclaw's. They didn't tend to come to games if their team wasn't playing, even if it meant getting out of homework. Still, there were a decent number, and a few were even waving yellow banners - not so much because they wanted Hufflepuff to win, but because they wanted Gryffindor to lose. After a minute, Roger managed to find John among the others, with a little yellow pennant.

Roger didn't even try to find Freddie in the Gryffindor bleachers. They were packed - a shoulder-to-shoulder sea of red and gold all here to cheer on their team. Freddie did apologize to Roger earlier, though. "I'm sorry dear," he'd said. "but I'll have to cheer for my own house."

That was fine. Roger would just make sure he gave Freddie some of the weirder Bertie Bott's Every-Flavored Beans later to make up for the slight.

"Well, here we are," Calvin said, coming to float next to him. Their team captain, Calvin was a sixth-year who'd been playing since he was twelve. He was small, but that was okay, since he was the Seeker and all. "I think we've got a chance. You?"   
  
"There's always a _chance,"_ Roger said.

"There's also a chance that giant mouth-thing from Star Wars could come up through the pitch and devour us all," Calvin replied.

Roger nodded, considering. "Is there a chance in this Low-Odds Chance Festival of yours that I could become a music god in some other reality? I really like drums, you know."

Calvin offered a quick sniff of laughter. "I think the closest you'll come out here is playing beater, if you want. You're good enough in practice."

"Not very musical, though."

"If you're playing Quidditch for the music, you might be in the wrong sport." Calvin gave Roger a pat on the shoulder before ascending high enough so he could see the whole field.

As Roger considered standing on his broom again, a disembodied voice echoed across the pitch. Quiet at first, it almost sounded like static, then resolved into words. "Okay, like this, I suppose?"

Roger glanced over to the press box, where he could see Headmistress McGonagall, a couple professors, and a young Gryffindor announcer. It was always a Gryffindor. Roger thought her name was Amy, or Angel. Something with an A. Freddie would know.

"Right, right. Here we go," she said.

Roger could have been a great announcer if he wasn't busy in the game itself. Maybe he could trade careers.

"I've been told we have a few announcements before the game, and the Headmistress has asked me to read them without embellishment this time. Terribly sorry about that. You know how it goes. In any case, first we have a thank you to all the students who remained calm during the thunderstorm in Hogsmeade. It reflects well on the school if we don't all incite panic, I suppose. Sorry, Headmistress, yes, I know there's a script.

"Next, the House rankings. In second, Slytherin, and in third, Ravenclaw. Currently in the lead with an amazing fifty points this early in the year... Our own Gryffindor!"  
  
The Gryffindor bleachers erupted in a deafening cheer.

"I'm sorry, Headmistress! It's true, though! Ah, Hufflepuff is in last place, which is a surprise to no one, I'm sh--No, I'll stop, I sw--"

The Gryffindor's voice abruptly ceased. Roger had to check to make sure McGonagall hadn't tossed her out of the box, but the young student seemed to be fine. Thankfully. Roger hadn't ever seen a murder before, and really had no desire to.

It was McGonagall who continued, though, her stately voice carrying an edge of irritation.

"As this particular announcement is rather important, I believe I'll take over for a moment, so it's delivered properly. As many of you have noticed, our first Hogsmeade visit this year was quite early. That is because our normal November visit has been cancelled."

She paused as a chorus of groans wafted from the bleachers. Everyone loved Hogsmeade.

"Now, now. Of course there's a reason. There would have to be, wouldn't there? With today's game starting a new season, Quidditch has been at Hogwarts for an amazing five hundred years. To celebrate good sportsmanship, healthy competition, and comradery, the staff will be hosting the Quidditch Quincentennial ball on November eighteenth, in the Great Hall."

A dance. A party. There was nothing like a Hogwarts party, or so Roger had heard. As voices rose around him, their excitement palpable, McGonagall continued.

"All students are invited, but we will have some guests - which means everyone is to be on their best behavior. No shenanigans or pranks or trouble or mischief. Anyone caught acting in an inappropriate manner will be sent back to their dormitories."

No one was really listening anymore. The Headmistress sighed. "More information will be available on your House bulletin boards. Read it, for the love of Merlin. Read it, please."  
  
They were probably boring rules. Rules! Roger had better things to think about than that. He'd never had the chance to ask a girl to anything - dating in Hogwarts was awkward, and sure, you could ask someone out to Hogsmeade, but that seemed too cliché. Roger liked to make an impression. Start with fireworks, end with a whisper. That was his style, according to the thoughts that just popped into his head. It seemed appropriate. Also corny, but he could run with it. At least this explained why they needed to bring their dress robes...

The quaffle was sailing toward him. Somehow, he'd missed the toss-up.

Though he bumbled the ball a bit, he managed to catch it, taking a quick glance around to see if anyone had noticed the blunder.

They had.

"Taylor has the quaffle. Doesn't quite seem to know what to do with it--oh, there he goes." The Gryffindor was announcing again, and she'd obviously caught the near-fumble. Roger suffered a rare moment of embarrassment as he carried the ball down the field.

He dodged one of their chasers who tried to steal the ball, and ducked a bludger. As the other two Gryffindor chasers converged on him, he passed the quaffle to his teammate, Amber, who scored the first goal of the game.

She sailed around the goalposts as Gryffindor recovered the ball. As she passed Roger, she called, "Head out of the clouds, Taylor!"

Well, he could certainly _try._

Actually, as the game picked up, it wasn't hard at all to get his mind off the earlier announcement. There was little room for error on the pitch, especially when he had to pay attention to bludgers soaring around him as well as other players on all sides. A crash could be deadly this high up.

"Hufflepuff chaser Amber Matthews passes to Roger Taylor--A little low on the pitch there, Taylor. That's better. Goals are up here--"

Gryffindors and their terrible attempts at humor.

"Taylor passes to Delmar, who scores. What's wrong with our keeper today?"

Roger felt that the Gryffindor keeper was perfectly fine.

Gryffindor did manage to tie up the game again before Roger scored his first goal, then his second. He knew the game would be close. Both teams tended to play fairly and quite straightforward, unlike Slytherin, who played dirty, or Ravenclaw, who played smart. Out of all the teams at Hogwarts, a Gryffindor/Hufflepuff game was the most fun to watch.

Roger, of course, was biased.

"We've had a brief sighting of the golden snitch by Gryffindor seeker Tamara Cline, but it's gone again, somewhere. We'd like to remind you all that our game's forecast is brought to you by Taylor's eyes. They were grey this morning. We're hoping the rain holds off, or no one will ever see the snitch again..."

Well, at least he was good for something.

Roger turned his shoulder toward a bludger. It hit hard, but he was expecting it, so he managed to hold onto his broom. He heard the Gryffindor beater apologize for the direct hit. Gaining the quaffle again, he passed it to Ryan Delmar, who scored.

None of this meant anything if Calvin couldn't locate the snitch.

"Hufflepuff keeper Sadie Sands is on fire today--she's blocked another. But, oh, you can't stop them all, can you, Sands? Gryffindor trails by one goal now. Come on, then, tie it up..."

Roger glanced back at Sadie, who looked as if she might drop. With the clouds gathering above them and the temperature dropping, it would continue to be a difficult game for her, especially considering that Gryffindor had at least a dozen more shots on goal than Hufflepuff. Still, Sadie always played tenaciously. Even if she looked exhausted, she'd hold off the other team. Hopefully she wouldn't have to do it for long.

"And the Gryffindor captain has called a time out after that goal. We'll take this opportunity for another weather forecast. Someone tell me what color Taylor's eyes are."

"Really?" Roger said to no one in particular.

"Oh, you love it," Calvin said, stopping his broom in front of Roger. "Oh, damn. They're purple. Looks like rain... I'll go let Amanda know."

Amanda, right. That was it. That was her name.

"I've just been informed that we've got rain in our future, folks. Let's pick it up, huh? I'm freezing out here!"

Gryffindor scored another goal, and another, but they couldn't hold the lead for long. Amber and Roger brought the score up again, before Ryan took a bludger to the chest. Hufflepuff called their first time out.

"You'll have a cool bruise," Roger said, pulling up his sleeve as Ryan caught his breath. "See mine?"

Ryan gave him a look like he'd grown a few more arms or something. "What am I gonna do with a bruise on my chest?"

"Walk around shirtless," Roger said. "S'what I'd do."

"Quiet, both of you," Calvin said, looking up. He narrowed his eyes. "Their beaters have great aim. Look, we don't want to hurt anyone. Gryffindor isn't trying to, despite the two hits on our chasers. It's just these bludgers--they're out for blood."

Clover crossed her arms. She was one of Hufflepuff's beaters, and destined to play professionally. Legend had it that she'd once snapped a goalpost in half with a bludger, and she didn't deny it. "We're doing all we can out there," she said. "I think the bludgers have been... I don't know. Programmed to..."

"You can't program a bludger. It's just the magic," the other beater, Andrew, replied. "Still, I see what you're saying. It's like they have a mind of their own."

"We can catch up to them easy," Clover went on. "They're slow, just... difficult. Ah, what if we aim one bludger at the other? We can keep them both out of play. Sort of."  
  
"Look, ask me to hit a player, and I can do that," Andrew replied. I don't know if I can manage to hit a target as small as another bludger, across the whole pitch."  
  
"We're not aiming at players," Calvin said. "I think aiming one bludger at another is our best option." The team bowed their heads, as Andrew did his best to not look too anxious about the idea. Calvin said, "Roger."

"Huh?"

"I think you could do it."

He couldn't figure out whether to ask Calvin if he was crazy or agree that the plan was crazy enough to work, so he ended up saying nothing.

"Really," Calvin said. "In practice, you always goof around with the bludgers. But you hit things dead-on. I know you're just playing, but I think you can do this. And we can pull off a win. Besides, you're always saying you want to be a drummer." He held his hand out for Andrew's bat, who surrendered it willingly. "If you want to hit things, here's your chance."

Roger supposed it could be possible. He took the bat from Calvin, spinning it a couple times. His drum kit at home didn't need such precision striking to be effective. It just made noise. Roger just wanted to make noise. Still... "I think I can do it. It should be possible."  
  
"Good. We'll stuff a sock in Amanda Derringer's mouth when we take the lead in House points. She can shut up about Hufflepuff being in last place then." Calvin hopped up on his broom. "Andrew, you'll be playing chaser for the rest of the game. I'll go tell the ref about the switch."

"Yeah, I can handle that. Played chaser for years in little league."

Roger balanced the bat on the palm of his hand. "You gotta get the snitch, though, Cal. At this point, whoever gets it is gonna win."  
  
"I know that, Roger. I'll find it. Promise. Let's just keep the score relatively even until I can pull this off."

The rain started as they rose back into the air. It was soft at first, but cold. Roger wished their robes weren't so thin, or that he'd worn something warmer under his uniform.

"We've got a bit of a change on the pitch, folks," Amanda called. "Seems Taylor and Lawrence have switched positions. I'm sure you're all thinking of the 'No Substitutions' rule of 1734, but shuffling players already on the field is allowed -- and Lawrence scores his first goal!"

At least that was one problem they didn't have to worry about. Andrew could score.

The entire idea of playing a different position completely threw Roger off. Even if he had fooled around with the bludgers in practice, it didn't compare to playing in an actual game. It demanded a different energy, a different sort of concentration. It was like listening to someone with an unfamiliar accent - you knew what they were saying, but it took a few extra seconds to process at first. This took time to pin down a proper rhythm. If he swung too early or too late, or misjudged where the bludger would end up at the end of its arc, he'd miss the other bludger entirely. He came quite close to knocking poor Ryan off his broom once, which caused uproarious laughter from the Slytherins in particular.

But Roger was up to the challenge. The Hufflepuff chasers held Gryffindor off long enough for him and Clover to figure things out, and between the two of them, they managed to keep the bludgers away from the Gryffindor beaters almost entirely.

After another quarter hour, it started to pour. Roger could barely feel his fingers or toes. At one point, Clover dropped her bat; Ryan fumbled the quaffle and missed what should have been an easy shot. The first hint of temper manifested when Amber purposely flew her broom right into one of the Gryffindor chasers, who only just managed to stay in the air.  
  
They needed to end this game.

"You'll recall that there are over seven hundred fouls in Quidditch," Amanda said as the Gryffindor player lined up to take a penalty shot. "Some of which are so very vile that no one even knows what they are. It's up to the referee to decide, I suppose. For the curious, this particular foul is called ' _blatching...'_ "

Gryffindor managed to get the quaffle past Sadie, both in the penalty shot and then in play. She stopped another three shots, though the last one came close to going through the central hoop. Hufflepuff scored again, but they were trailing now.

That was fine. If they could keep the score within thirty points or so, the only thing that would matter would be the snitch. Roger could already see their seeker focusing on one particular spot over the pitch, which meant he'd seen something.  
  
The great thing about Calvin, and the reason Hufflepuff tended to do so well with Quidditch lately, was that he was the master of seeking without actually chasing. He noticed things more than the others on the team - more than most people Roger knew, in fact. Once he spotted the snitch, he could go on watching it forever until it was close enough to chase without letting the other seeker onto what he was doing.  
  
But it was also raining, and there were bludgers about. If Calvin lost sight of the thing for even a split second, the game could go on for another hour. Another three hours. Another _day._  
  
Roger circled around and stopped next to Clover, who was just hitting the bludger out of the reach of the Gryffindor beaters. Theirs was an odd strategy, but it worked. "I think Calvin's found it. Just keep it up a little longer."

Clover nodded.

"And Hufflepuff brings the score back to a one-goal difference, with Matthews just edging the quaffle past Gryffindor keeper Cory Smith. If you're free for the Quidditch Quincentennial, Cory, I am, too..."

While Smith was distracted, Ryan made a perfect pass over the goalposts to Andrew, who scored again.

Roger imagined that Cory would not be asking Amanda to the ball.

It was when the Gryffindor seeker paused in her search to make fun of poor Cory that Calvin finally made his move. Roger couldn't see the snitch, of course. He wasn't good at spotting the little tell-tale shimmer, especially not in the pouring rain.

Calvin saw it, though.

There was no way that Tamara could catch up with Calvin without some sort of miracle. The game appeared to be in the bag now, even though it hadn't been the easiest win in the world. With the cold and rainy weather, Roger felt every minute of the three hours they'd been playing.   
  
Watching Calvin was almost his downfall.   
  
He ignored a bludger as it whipped past him, but the Gryffindor beaters didn't. They weren't going to let Hufflepuff steal a win from right under their noses.

"Hufflepuff seeker Calvin Valentine has seen the snitch! You'd best hurry, Tamara, if you're going to catch it..."

"Roger! Pay attention!" Clover called.

One of the opposing beaters aimed a perfect shot at Calvin, who was so focused, he didn't even see it coming. Quite on purpose, Amber intercepted the bludger and took the hit. She went careening off her broom and fell half a dozen meters, sliding across the ground until she disappeared under the Ravenclaw bleachers.

Roger didn't have time to see if she reappeared. Gryffindor was already attempting to buy their seeker a little time, and Calvin wouldn't take his attention off the snitch to save his own backside.

One of their beaters aimed another bludger.

A lot of Quidditch was based on luck. You were lucky to catch the snitch. You were lucky not to break all the bones in your body. In Roger's case, he was lucky that the other bludger had set itself on a collision course for his skull at just the right moment. He desperately hoped he had his timing right as he set up his shot, or Calvin was going to get hit by not only the Gryffindor bludger, but his own teammate's, as well.

Mere centimeters - it had to be - from Calvin's face, Roger's bludger slammed into the one hit by Gryffindor and knocked it aside. Both balls collided into the support holding up Slytherin bleachers, and the students in the seats issued a collective nervous cacophony of screams and gasps.

"Oh, he's got it, Valentine's got the snitch," Amanda said with a good measure of disappointment. "That means the game's over. Hufflepuff wins."  
  


\---

  
"So, she's okay?" Brian asked as Roger slouched out of the locker room. He was exhausted. Since Quidditch really didn't involve much running around, he imagined that his tiredness was mostly emotional, but he felt like he'd run a few kilometers.

"Yeah, she broke her arm, but she'll be fine. You know they can fix that up pretty quick." Roger unstrapped his gloves, stuffing them into his bag. He'd need a drying spell, though he couldn't remember the words at the moment. Thankfully, Brian had an umbrella charmed to follow them. He was so tired of the rain. "She's a little shaken up. It could have been a lot worse, if she was higher up."

"Oh, uh..." John said, leaning in as Freddie whispered something to him. "Freddie wants you to know that he's very glad Amber's okay."

"Freddie wants-- He's right bloody there!" Roger exclaimed.

"Yes, but he's not talking to you," John said. "Being that Hufflepuff won and all."

Roger supposed that was fair. "Calvin's already talking about switching my position permanently. Not sure how I feel about that."

"Not enough glory?" Brian asked.

"Of course it's not. Name one famous beater, I dare you."

"Cosgrove McAllister of Falmouth," John said. When Roger aimed a dirty look in his direction, he shrugged. "You did ask. There's also Valerie Orson of--"

"The Harpies!" Freddie interrupted. "And if you will, John, please tell Roger that there's also Delaney Duggett from the Cannons. And if we're looking internationally, Joseph Something-or-other from the Stonewall Stormers. He's currently playing. I'm surprised Roger doesn't know." When John said nothing, Freddie added, "Well, go on, dear. Tell him!"

John sighed. "Freddie wants you to know--"

"Yeah, I heard him. Still, I like scoring." He smiled, giving Freddie a shove.

Freddie asked John to please shove Roger for him. John refused.

"So, I suppose you all heard about the Quidditch ball," Roger asked as they headed back toward the school.

"The Quincentennial," Brian corrected. "You're on a team, you ought to learn to say it."

Too many syllables. "The ball," Roger said again. "Any idea who you'll be asking? I'm pretty sure Amanda from Gryffindor's free."

Brian chuckled. "I don't know. I never really thought much about it. Someone in Ravenclaw, probably."

"Well, I'm not going," John said.

"Oh, you've got to. It'll be great, you'll see. We'll hang out together. It's not all dancing," Freddie said. "Just ask someone in your House to go with you, and you can ditch 'em and hang out with the people who really matter. That's us." He gestured to himself, Brian, and Roger. Then he scowled at Roger and added, "Not Roger. Just Brian and I."

"You're just _so bitter,"_ Roger laughed.

"I don't want to go," John grumbled.   
  
"We've got a month or so to get him to change his mind," Brian said.

"I'm not--" John started.

But he was interrupted by a "Hey, Taylor!" coming from the direction of the Gryffindor locker room. Roger had little chance to react, just enough time to throw his arms over his face, before one of Gryffindor's chasers dumped a bucket of watery, slimy, disgustingly stinky mud over his head.

As they were laughing amongst themselves, Roger heard, " _Petrificus totalus_!" from John.

The spell whizzed past his ear, causing a splash of mud to go flying.

Immediately after, John cast " _Expelliarmus_!" and one of the Gryffindors lost his wand. John stood over the boy he'd just petrified, a horribly malicious sneer on his face. He pointed his wand, which Freddie thankfully removed from his possession before he could cast anything worse.

Brian wrapped an arm around John's chest, pulling him away from his victim.

"Call off your dog, Taylor!" the Gryffindor keeper said.

"Oh, he's not a dog, Cory," Roger said, kneeling down next to the petrified Gryffindor. "He's a Slytherin. Much more dangerous. _Ennervate."_ The Gryffindor quickly struggled to his feet, stumbling away.

"It's just a little prank," Roger said. He shook his head toward the Gryffindors, who also ended up splattered with mud. "It's fine, John. We do it all the time."

John was still scowling, breathing rapidly, lip curled. The longer Brian held him, though, the more he seemed to come to a very slow realization, and the anger turned to shock. He shrugged out of Brian's grip and gave the Ravenclaw a quick shove with his shoulder. After another glare at the Gryffindors, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and sloshed off alone in the rain, toward the school.

"He's got some anger issues," Roger said, standing. "Not exactly Slytherin material, we think. Has some trouble with people in his house over hanging out with Hufflepuffs, so I guess he tends to be a little protective."

"Oh, poor kid," Cory said. "Look, sorry about the whole..."

"Nah, it's fine." Roger wrung his hair out over Cory's shoulder. "See? We're even. Anyway, practice next week?"

"Beautiful. Yeah, I'll see you Wednesday."

As the Gryffindors took a path toward the school that widely skirted John's, Roger leaned on Brian's shoulder, making sure the Ravenclaw got his share of muddying, too. "What prompted that, you suppose?"

"Well, could be he's a Slytherin," Freddie said.

Roger reached up and wiped a mud-covered hand across Freddie's face.

"No, you arse! It's not a bad thing, it's just... Old rivalries, you know? Oh, this mud smells like _manure."_

"Actually, I think you were right, Rog," Brian said. "About the whole protective thing." He bit his upper lip, underbite becoming more pronounced for a moment. "Though he's going to really hurt someone. We should talk to him about, uh. Talking first, cursing later."


	4. The Empty Classroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anger Management for John. And lunch!

"Just... Tell us where we're going."

"I can't. Brian made me promise." Roger smiled, his eyes quite odd today. One was blue, the other violet, as the weather switched between rain and snow.

"Well, if I'm not supposed to know," John said as they waited for the flight of stairs to settle on its chosen tangent, "shouldn't I be blindfolded?"

"Do you want me to?" Roger asked. It was almost hopeful. John wrinkled his nose.  
  
"No, of _course_ not."

Roger shrugged. "It's not that you're not supposed to know where we're going. It's that Brian thinks you won't go if you know. That's what he _said_ anyway. Then _I_ said..."

"Oh, I don't want to know what you said," John grumbled. The stairway finally settled, and they continued on their way up to the third floor. Brian couldn't have picked a more out-of-the-way location for his meeting, whatever it was about. The third floor corridors were notoriously hard to get to, on account of the Grand Staircase's mercurial schedule.

"I said that not telling you would make you _just curious enough_ to follow me."

John really hated when Roger was right. He couldn't help it. Now that there was some big secret meeting, he'd have to see for himself what was going on. John hated secrets as much as he hated surprises.

They reached a junction in the hall. Roger checked the wall; there was a chalk arrow drawn in blue. "See, he's left us instructions."

It stunk in the corridor. Not anything awful, just the collective odor of disuse and neglect. The crystalline windows were foggy with layers of grime and dust that hadn't been cleaned for years. Some of the doors hung open, the darkness within betraying their abandonment. To John, it was always strange that such a place existed without use, though Hogwarts did what Hogwarts wanted to do. He supposed. Generations of students arriving tardy to their third-floor classes necessitated the shutdown.

It was also cold. Of course it would be. With no one here, there were no torches.   
  
As they rounded another corner, they nearly ran into a couple students going the other way. That in itself was strange enough, considering that the whole floor had spotty access at best. But as soon as John saw who they were, his hand flew to his pocket, fingers closing around his wand.

The Slytherins who cursed him last year. John's hand itched as he remembered the horrible boils with which they cursed him.  
  
"What are you doing here?" John demanded.

The big one--the one who did all the cursing--looked at him like he had a few more eyes than normal. "We got lost, badger-lover." He glanced at Roger as the two Slytherins behind him laughed at his lackluster wit.

Roger puffed up his chest, almost as if he meant to snap off a retort, then something strange happened.

"We can't hurt you," the big Slytherin said, his face a combination of blank and confused. The two behind him repeated, "we can't hurt you."

"No, you can't," John said.

"We can't hurt you," the big one said again.

It was eerie, the conviction he had. It wasn't like he'd been told this mantra, it was as if he'd believed it his whole life. Even John shuddered at the creepiness, though a thread of pride deep inside glowed every time one of the Slytherins spoke. Freddie did this. Freddie protected him. Freddie cared about him more than these lummoxes in his own damn house.   
  
John realized that he really should learn their names.

"So... Yeah, that's a fun topic," Roger said, taking John by the shoulders and guiding him to the side. "Very stimulating. Thought provoking. You three run along, then."

Still wearing shades of confusion, the Slytherins shuffled along the hallway, back toward the grand staircase. Every once in a while, one of them would re-iterate, "We can't hurt him."

"That was weird," Roger said.

John had never seen the result of siren magic before--not like this, anyway. And he had to admit that it was quite weird. "Freddie told them they couldn't hurt me," John said, scratching his chin. "I guess they really can't. I'd been avoiding them, mostly."

"Well, Freddie also said his magic can be broken," Roger said. "So let's go before they change their minds."

John didn't think they would, but he allowed Roger to lead him along by one sleeve anyway.

"Here we are." Roger tapped the wall where someone had scribbled another arrow, pointing directly to a heavy oaken door. He pushed down the latch and shouldered it open.

Although there were windows - which, notably, had been cleaned - there were also a few torches floating around the room, providing warmth. There was a fire dancing in a small hearth, too, and a roll of carpet laid out on the floor. Other than that, the room was bare.

Well, aside from Brian, who was stacking a couple cauldrons against one dilapidated corner. A moment later, John saw Freddie sitting cross-legged on the floor next to a picnic basket. He bounced up and down a couple times. "Oh, you've done it! You've gotten him here!"

Brian ceased his cleaning and looked up, as well, smiling. "Well done, Rog. What'd you tell him?"

Roger closed the door, pointed his wand at the latch, and cast, " _Colloportus."_

"You're locking me in?" John asked.

Roger ignored him. "I didn't tell him anything," Roger said. "I just told him something was going on, and that we needed him here."

John tried the latch. Roger gave him a gentle nudge. "Go on, sit down. Brian and Freddie got lunch."

He didn't like being locked in, though, especially not knowing why the others wanted him here. Still, he trusted them as much as he could, which was to say that he trusted them more than most other people in the world. Actually, he trusted them a great deal. He just hoped he wouldn't regret it. Scowling at Roger, he sat beside the basket.

Relieved, Roger sat next to him. "We almost had a fight on the way here."

Finishing with the cauldrons, Brian also took a seat. "John--"

"It was the Slytherins. The ones who... Anyway, nothing happened."

Brian and Freddie looked to Roger for confirmation, as if they didn't believe him! Granted, John's temper almost led him to curse first, and ask questions later. Maybe he would have, if Roger wasn't there.

"Nothing happened," Roger said. "They were acting weird though. Your magic stuck."

"Of course it did." Freddie tipped his head upward, looking down his nose. "As if you could have possibly had doubts!" Sobering, he asked, "What... ah... What were they doing?"

"They were repeating that the couldn't hurt me," John answered. "It was..."

"Unsettling," Roger supplied. "Not sure what they were doing up here to begin with. I mean, it took us an hour to find the right combination of stairs again. Really, Brian, this is the most out of the way--"

"I know," Brian said, looking toward the cauldrons. "But I can work on some of my extracurriculars here without interruption. Anyway, look, Freddie and I got some food from the kitchens. We can eat and talk."

"Yeah, I'd never seen the house elves before," Freddie said, scratching his chin. "Weird little things, aren't they? Brian has a fondness for them."

Without waiting for a second invitation, Roger dove into the basket, rifling around the tiny, wrapped packages within. "They aren't _weird,"_ Roger said. "They're really helpful, 'specially if you've lost something. Or get hungry in the middle of the night."

"He speaks from experience," Freddie said, and John giggled.

"Well, I do," Roger admitted. "And with the kitchens being right outside the dorm, all I have to do it sneak out for a sec, pop down another flight of stairs, and they practically throw food at me." He paused as he unwrapped a sandwich, took a bite, made a face, and handed it to Freddie. "Fish. Blech."

"...Thanks," Freddie muttered.

"No problem," Roger said, undaunted. "I don't know what I'd do with myself if my dorm was way up _here._ It'd take forever to get to the kitchens!"

"Are we going to berate me about this all day?" Brian asked.

Roger stuffed a whole half a sandwich into his face. "Yefth," he said.   
  
"No," said Freddie. "Look, there's a reason we're here, Roger. Stop stalling."

Roger spit the sandwich out into his hand, said, "Well _you_ tell him, then!" then stuffed the entire slimy lump back into his mouth.

Freddie turned green. "I'm not going to tell him!"  
  
" _I'll_ tell him," Brian said. He made a point of frowning at the others, then delayed further by sorting through the remaining sandwiches in the basket. "Look, John, you've been... Well, we wanted to talk to you about... It's just, what you did after the Quidditch game. Maybe you shouldn't... do that. So much. Here."

He passed a wrapped sandwich to John.

That's what this was all about? His temper? Well, he had to admit, it could use some working on, but he couldn't help that there were just so many idiots in the world who deserved the worst curses imaginable. Still, he glanced over at Roger. While the Hufflepuff's eyes were mostly blue now--their normal color--they'd forever change with the weather. As curses went, the lace-eyes curse was fairly harmless, but it could have been so much worse... And after all that anger and insecurity, Roger and John ended up becoming friends.

"You've blown his fuse," Roger said.

"No, no, I'm just thinking," John replied. He unwrapped his sandwich and lifted the top slice of bread. Turkey salad. "I think you're right."

The others let out a collective breath, like a bunch of stuffy balloons, John thought.

"That went better than expected," Freddie said with obvious relief. He carefully ate around the bite Roger left in his sandwich. "We were sure you'd blow up at us. It's why we locked the door."

"Well, I'm not mad at _you,_ " John said. "Look, I wish I could explain it." He shook his head as he tried to come up with the right way to describe how little things could just make him see red. "I react."

"You sure do," Roger said. "Well, now that we know you aren't going to kill us, here." He reached into his pocket and retrieved a book, which John recognized to be yet another copy of the anger management book Roger gave him last year.  
  
_So You're an Angry Wizard,_ the cover said. John thought it to be a load of tripe, honestly. He could manage his anger just fine. Or maybe he couldn't.

"Just promise you'll read it?" Roger asked. "Just once? I've only got a few left. You keep burning them."

John grunted.

Unsure, Freddie asked, "Was that a yes?"  
  


\---

  
A couple hours later, Roger staggered back to his room. He felt drunk. No, that wasn't quite right. He felt... Sleepy, or weary, or out of sorts. Perhaps the cider Brian got from the house elves wasn't as non-alcoholic as they thought.

More likely, it was because they all worried about how John would react. In fact, Roger knew that Brian had a counter-curse book stored under one of the room's loose flagstones, just in case John lost his temper. Roger didn't think John would get _that angry,_ but one never knew.

Anyway, with the stress gone, the sheer weight of relief now dragged him down. Or perhaps it was the other six copies of _So You're an Angry Wizard_ he had stuffed in his pockets. He had to be prepared in case John "lost" the first copy, but now it seemed John would at least give the book a read.

"Here," he said, handing a copy to a random Gryffindor. "And you, too," he added, passing another to some first-year Hufflepuff he barely knew.

Once all the books were gone, he _still_ felt heavy. It must have been the cider. Maybe Brian bribed the elves to add a little something extra to it to make John more agreeable. Then again, Roger thought, alcohol might make John even angrier.

"Damn," he grunted, balancing himself against a wall. He yawned, gazing down the stairs into the too-brightly-lit Hufflepuff dungeon, with its playful dragon sconces and dancing torchlight shimmering across the brick. It all made him quite dizzy.

If he rolled down the stairs, would anyone care? Sure, he'd break his neck, but the important thing was, _would anyone stop him?_

With a broken neck, he probably couldn't play Quidditch, and that would be a tragedy. Not necessarily for _him,_ but for the rest of the world, which would surely miss his daredevil antics when he became a world-famous chaser-beater, because that was a valid position now, apparently. Somewhere in his mind, he was _great_ at it.

He swore more colorfully this time. 

Although he really could use a little help getting to the dormitory, his fellow Hufflepuffs were giving him a rather wide berth, which was probably for the best. He might fall asleep if offered a shoulder to lean on.

"Welp," Roger said. "One step at a time, I guess."

Somehow, someway, Roger made it to his bed. He barely registered the beautiful softness of his pillow before passing out into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Reversed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took me long enough to get to the point, but here it is.

Freddie heard the other fourth-year boys calling for him to get out of bed, but he couldn't shake the drowsiness. His eyes felt gritty when he opened them, and heavy.

Someone reminded him it was the weekend, and he'd best get up or he'd waste the whole thing.  
  
"Fine, fine, give me a..." Minute?

The other boys stopped their clamor. Freddie himself couldn't finish the sentence. Sitting up, he rubbed at his throat, surprised to find several rows of rough scales tapering to a point in the middle. They extended along the side of his neck, up to his ears - which were unfortunately still docked. It wasn't the scales that bothered him, though. It was the sound of his voice. "What the hell?" he said.

"Freddie, are you...?" One of the boys--Christian--started.

"Am I hearing what I think I'm hearing?" Freddie asked. His voice was decidedly different. A little higher, smoother almost.

The others were staring at him.

Sliding out of bed, he made his way around the piles of dirty laundry on the floor to the polished silver full-length mirror.

In the morning sun, the new scales on his neck glittered with iridescent beauty. The scales around his ears had also extended to two shimmering stripes under each eye. His angular features were softer, his shoulders just a little narrower. And his chest... Well.

There were definitely a couple things under his pyjama top that shouldn't have been there.   
  
"Fred?" Christian asked. "Are you a girl?"

"It seems that way, doesn't it, darling?"

"Why?"

Maybe it was a siren thing. He knew surprisingly little about his father's side of the family... Only that there were more female sirens than male. And that the girls were much more brightly-colored and a wonder to behold, although Freddie had never seen one himself. Well, until now, that was.

He rubbed the scales under his eyes. Surely someone would have told him if he should have expected such a change, but he couldn't think of any special occasion that would warrant it other than his birthday, and that was days ago already. Pushing his hair back, he found scales on his forehead, too, and curled his lip. There'd be no hiding it now.

"Freddie?" Another of the boys asked.

"I'm not entirely sure, Joey," Freddie said.

He found himself more _concerned_ than frightened. While he did quite enjoy the way he shimmered whenever he moved, he definitely should not have been a girl. Either it was a tradeoff he could live with, or something had gone awry, which he really ought to discern. "Might have to move to the other dorm," he mused, to a chorus of 'awwws!' and 'nooos!' If nothing else could be said about Freddie, at least his dorm mates liked him okay. "Fine, let me ask you this. Did one of you blokes put something in my tea?"

He rubbed his throat again. Strangely, he sounded like himself, only _completely different._

"I think that's a little advanced for us," Joey said, he was hiding a quizzical smile behind one hand. "We're all terrible at potions. You know us. If it's any consolation, you are kind of pretty."

"Consolation," Freddie muttered. The more he thought about how he passed out so quickly the night before, the more he realized something might be terribly wrong. Wrinkling his nose at his reflection, he returned to his bed and grabbed his rumpled robe off the headboard and threw it over his pyjamas. "It is. You know me. Still, I'd better find out what's gone wrong. I'll be back."

He didn't like the way the sunlight hit his scales and reflected into his eyes, nor did he appreciate the way it felt as if he was inhabiting an alien body, piloting it on its way to the library. Again, Freddie got the sense that everything was _exactly the same_ and _completely different_ at the same time, though he supposed he was probably overthinking to some degree.

It did help to think he was pretty, and he loved the attention. The natural makeup was a bonus, too--one that his professors couldn't ask him to wash off. Still, it felt strange, like a forgotten question in the back of his mind that he'd never be able to answer.

Of course, he couldn't even answer the question on his mind right now: What happened to him?

At least a Gryffindor in a Gryffindor robe running from the tower to the library on a Saturday morning didn't garner much attention. Most of the students up at this hour were still bleary-eyed and unobservant anyway. There was one who would have been up since the crack of dawn, though, who would already be awake enough to study. If anything could be said about Brian, it was that he was predictable. And also, that he'd be in the library on a Saturday morning.

Shouldering open the door, Freddie immediately spotted the Ravenclaw's curly hair. However, he was surprised to find Roger, too, perched on the table next to Brian, watching him read. By Freddie's calculations, Roger shouldn't have been awake until at least noon.

As Freddie approached, he realized there was a building nausea in the pit of his stomach. Something wasn't quite right, though he couldn't quite discern the problem at first. It wasn't until Brian looked up at him that he figured it out.

Because Brian was _also_ different. Of course, they were both in their early teens, but they should have had more boyish characteristics, and Brian didn't look like a boy at all. There were no scales like Freddie had, but his nose wasn't quite as angular. His eyes were softer, jawline just a bit rounder. He still had a recognizable underbite, so that hadn't changed, but his lips were softer. Freddie did experience the slightest pang of jealousy when he noticed that Brian's chest was still flat.

Freddie crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, you're a girl," he said, the matter not up for debate.

Brian looked slightly alarmed for all of a second before he shook his head and went back to his book without saying a word.

"So are you," Roger said. "I like the scales. Can I touch--"   
  
"No, definitely not."

Roger pouted.

"So," Freddie began, trying to peek at the book under Brian's hand. "Why are we--"

Brian waved a hand, hissing an annoyed "Shh!"

"He's been like this," Roger said in what passed for a whisper. His eyes were golden today, which meant a rare clear day at the castle. "I ran into him downstairs at--I don't know. Ungodly-o-clock--"

"Eight," Brian muttered.

"Eight then," Roger amended. "He dragged me up here. I haven't been doin' anything, but he's been poring through books, tryin' to figure out what happened to us. And now you, too, I guess."  
  
"Us?" Freddie asked. He looked Roger over, but didn't see anything terribly different. Rolling his eyes, Roger unbuttoned his robe and opened it to reveal the white dress shirt underneath.  
  
Oh.  
  
Freddie squinted at the Hufflepuff's face. Now that he was really looking, he could tell that there were a few differences. It was so minor, though, that if Roger hasn't been standing there with his robe open, no one would be able to tell. It was almost unfair. "I guess I was already too pretty," Roger said, smiling. "There isn't much to change, is there?"

Come to think of it, his voice was just _slightly_ different. "I guess not," Freddie conceded.   
  
"Why did it happen to you, too?" Brian asked, flipping the book shut. He ran his fingers through his curls, sighing. "To all of us? Is there anyone else...?"

As Roger buttoned up his robe again, he said, "Not in Hufflepuff. Believe me, I checked."

"I didn't really pay attention in Gryffindor tower," Freddie said. "But I wouldn't think so. There'd be more of a ruckus if there were more people involved."

"It's..." Brian hesitated, tapping the cover of the book. "It's definitely a spell. Of course it is, though. What I mean is, I think we've been cursed. Possibly. Potentially. It could've been an accident."

"An _accident!"_ Roger laughed. "An accident, he says." He hopped off the table, leaning on it with one hand, the opposite hip jutting out in a purposely feminine pose. "Fred, when's the last time you accidentally woke up as a girl?"

Brian was rubbing his forehead, clearly flustered. His face was turning pink. "I just meant," he said--Well, no, now that you've said it, it does sound a little--I'm just saying that--Oh, bugger it."

"It's all right, Brian," Freddie said. He sat next to the poor Ravenclaw and dragged the book out from under his hand, paging through it. "Maybe it was Roger's friends from the game. I've never seen a gaggle of Gryffindors act so poorly. I do apologize for their stupidity."

"Eh, a little mud in the hair don't hurt," Roger said, ruffling his own hair. "But no offense, Freddie... I'm not sure that lot would be smart enough to transfigure three people without them knowing."

"Why would I be offended, dear? They're so out of my league, we're barely in the same ocean." He tossed his hair, sticking his nose up.

Roger chuckled. "You know, I think it was the cider. I felt a little... wobbly... Going back to my dorm last night. Do you think--"

"Already checked," Brian said. "Not the cider."

Roger frowned. "Are you sure? Can we re-check? Because I felt awfully drunk. And you know, some potion effects..."

Brian stared at the table, scowling, his eyes red from stress. Freddie wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Oh, it's not so bad, is it?" he asked. "We'll see what the other side is like for a while, have a good laugh, and then in a couple days, you'll figure out how to set things back to normal."

When Brian met his eyes, his smile was forced. "Yeah, I'm sure. I just don't understand..."

"Well, it's a school of _magic,”_ Roger said. "Things go crazy all the time. Look at my eyes, for example. And speaking of cursed eyes, where's John? He's always spending his Saturdays in the library, too.  Buncha nerds, Brian and John."

No one said anything for a moment, then Brian's eyes widened. "You don't think that he...?"

"Well, if it hit the three of us, and we're all friends, it seems to me like someone's trying to curse our whole little circle," Freddie said. "I wouldn't be surprised."

Brian snatched the book from Freddie and opened it again, going pale.

"Oh, he'll hate it," Roger said, unable to help a smile. "You know how John hates change."

"Indeed." Freddie stood, grabbing the book right out from under his friend's nose. Brian stared up at him, his expression a mix of both horror and panic. "Relax, Brian, we're just going down to the Great Hall to wait for John. He's got to show up eventually, eh? You can study more down there."  
  


\---

  
It took them another twenty minutes to get out of the library, because Brian collected every helpful book he could get his hands on. He also tried to get into the restricted section of the library--just for a peek--but Madam Pince told him that whether or not he had an emergency, he'd need clearance from the headmistress.

Then she did a double-take, and for a moment, almost seemed to reconsider the request.

Having had quite enough of this stalling, Roger grabbed Brian's robe and forcefully evicted him, dragging him from the library by his collar. "You can't read eighteen books anyway!" Roger insisted.

"But if I don't get them now, someone else might!" Brian replied.

Roger grabbed the nearest book and opened it to the shelving card. "See? Hasn't been checked out since two-thousand-five. Probably by your own clone, gone back in time to check it out just for the heck of it, Eh? Right?" He tossed the book back onto the top of the stack, which caused Brian to dance in place a little to keep the whole pile balanced. "Don't worry."

The expression on Brian's face was that of a boy-turned-girl who was a _bsolutely_ worried, and intended to continue worrying for the foreseeable future. "C'mon," Roger said, taking half the stack. "Freddie n' I'll help you figure out what's going on."

"I don't remember signing up for any such thing," Freddie said, tossing his hair over one shoulder. "I'm perfectly happy this way. Look how pretty I am."

"For the rest of your life?" Roger asked.

Freddie considered, then deflated. "Well, maybe not that long."

Pressing his lips together in a mirthless smile, Roger handed Freddie a good share of Brian's books.

"You know what's funny," Roger said as they sat down in the Great Hall. "No one's even giving us a second glance."

"Because everyone keeps their heads down, darling," Freddie said. "Give 'em some time to hear the news, and they'll be searching us out. Look, there's some over there." He nodded toward the Gryffindor table, where a trio of girls was looking in their direction. One of them finally covered her mouth and leaned in to speak with the other two.

Freddie, of course, winked. The girls laughed.

"Would you stop?" Brian asked.

"Why? I intend to have a bit of fun. Roger would, too, if he looked at all feminine."

"I'm gorgeous," Roger insisted. It wasn't his fault that whatever happened to the other two didn't affect him as strongly. "But Freddie's right, you know. People are more likely to point n' stare if they think it's bothering you."

Brian sighed, tossing open the cover of the first book in the pile.   
  
It took the three of them over an hour to skim through the driest books in the whole library. Seriously, by the time Roger closed the last book, he felt as if he could sleep for another eight hours. He made a point to note down the titles of these volumes in particular, so he could read them if he was ever having a sleepless night. Maybe he'd even buy a few for his kids one day.

And while they learned quite a bit about potions and spells from all walks of life, they were no closer to solving their own predicament, nor had they seen any sign of their Slytherin friend. Despite this, Brian seemed to have relaxed a bit, or maybe he found himself just as shell-shocked as the other two from reading too many magic books at once.

Roger tapped his fingers on the table. "John's never coming out of the dungeon."

"I agree," Freddie replied. "Maybe if we send him an owl..."   
  
"There aren't any windows," Brian said. "We'd never get an owl to him. We'll have to have one of the Slytherins get a message to him."

"As much as I like John, I don't trust anyone else in that house as far as I can throw 'em," Roger said.   
  
"Oh, come on. There must be a few good Slytherins," Brian said. "Decent Slytherins. Slytherins who aren't entirely evil?"  
  
"There it is," Roger said.

Brian seemed so tired. He put his head down on the table, whining quietly into his robe. Freddie gave him a comforting pat, for all the good it did. It wasn't that the Ravenclaw was embarrassed. More than a few people had already stopped to stare at the familiar-but-different trio of friends, but Brian had barely noticed. "You don't have to put so much weight on your shoulders, dear," Freddie said. "We'll help you find a cure, Brian. It's not all up to you. And once we get John out of his dorm, he'll be able to help, too. He's smarter than all of us, I think."

"Yeah, actually, that might help..." Brian said, sitting up again. "I really don't know what to do. If... Maybe John could provide a bit of insight. Something I haven't thought of yet--"

Freddie stood up, slamming his hands on the table and startling the other two into wakefulness. "Well!" he exclaimed. "I've got a plan."


	6. The Slytherin Dorms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hunt for John ends when he turns up exactly where he's supposed to be.

"This is insane. This is crazy," Brian hissed. "You're going to get us hexed!"  
  
"We're already hexed," Freddie said. "Relax."

"It's a curse, I think," Roger said. "I _know_ curses."

"Just because your eyes are weird doesn't mean you're a curse expert," Brian grumbled. He peered around a dusty pillar into the dim torchlight of the dungeon.

"I think it does. And besides, I love Freddie's idea."

"Of _course_ you do! It's reckless!"

"You didn't have to come with us. You could have waited out in the courtyard _as planned,"_ Roger said. "Look, here comes one now."

They scrambled to duck behind the pillar. Of course they didn't all fit; between the elbowing and arguing, their presence would have been obvious to even the most unobservant student.

"Um... Are you okay?"

Roger untangled his hand from Brian's hair and stared down at the Slytherin boy. He couldn't have been more than a second-year--maybe even first, judging by how short he was. But with his plan foiled, Roger either had to think fast or think stupid, and he chose the latter.

He grabbed the hood of the boy's robe and yanked him backward. The kid barely had time to utter an "ulp!" of surprise before Roger had his hand pressed against his mouth.

"Shh, we're not gonna hurt you. We just need to charm you for a bit," Roger whispered, removing his hand after he was sure the kid wasn't going to scream.

"Charm me?"  
  
"Yeah, we need to borrow your password. And also your robe," Freddie said. He stepped forward into the torchlight, the scales under his eyes glittering. Unable to help it, Roger patted Freddie's cheek.

The scales were soft. Smooth. Roger giggled.  
  
The boy tilted his head.

"Rog, you're making this much less intimidating," Freddie grumbled, his voice elevating just high enough to make him sound like a frustrated teenage girl.

"Stop it. Both of you," Brian muttered. "This is honestly the worst idea we've ever had. Get on with it before I report myself to a professor."

"Oh, for Triton's sake, Brian, lighten up," Freddie said. Still, he turned his attention back toward the kid. "Look, I do apologize for this, but I’m going to have to sing you into a bit of a stupor."

The boy's eyes widened. "Oh--You're that siren kid. I... I thought you were a boy."   
  
"Details, details." Freddie dismissed the observation with a flip of his hand. "Anyway, don't be scared, we'll make sure you get back to your dorm okay--"   
  
"You don't have to sing at me, mister. Er. Miss. I'll give you my password."

That was unexpected. Roger glanced over at Freddie, who shrugged, and looked up at Brian.

Brian said, "That's a much better idea. I'd rather _not_ charm students to break into their dorms. After all, if you remember the--"

Roger put his hand over Brian's mouth. Brian struggled for a second, then grunted in defeat. His shoulders slumped. "I’m really good at this shutting people up thing," Roger said.

"Try it on yourself sometime," Freddie replied, narrowing his eyes at the kid. "And you. Why would you just give us your password? I didn't think Slytherins were the type to just dole out their closest secrets all willy-nilly."

"Well, don't you think it's weird that they keep us out of each others' houses?" the kid asked. "It's not like we're hiding anything in there, 'cept maybe old Ernold Mason's mom's cookies. They're the best, y'know." He looked back toward the dormitory and shrugged. "I've seen you guys--girls? With John before anyway. And I think he's sick, so if you're gonna help him, then..."   
  
"Astute, isn't he?" Brian asked the moment Roger removed his hand.

"Looks like you get your way, Bri," Roger said.

"Oh, darn," Freddie whined. "I so wanted to try--female sirens are much more powerful than male sirens, you see."

"Well then." Brian cuffed Freddie on the back of the head. "Maybe it's a bad idea if you sing at some random Slytherin kid."

"Odin," the boy said.

"Your... Your name is Odin?" Roger asked.

The boy smiled, abashed. "Yeah, my parents thought it'd make me tough."

Purebloods and their weird names. Still, the boy seemed to already understand how blatantly ridiculous a name like Odin was. It was so ridiculous, in fact, that Roger kind of liked it. "Can I borrow your robe, Odin?"

"Are you sure I can't sing at him, darlings? Just a hum, perhaps?" Freddie asked.

"No," Brian said. "It's lucky we came across such an agreeable kid. We don't need you hypnotizing the whole school."

Odin's eyes widened as he shrugged out of his robe. "She can do that?"

"I don't know at the moment," Freddie said, tapping his chin. "Wouldn't it be interesting to find out, though?"

"I swear to God, I'll silence you yet," Brian said. He helped Odin out of his robe and handed it to Roger, who draped his own robe over Brian's arm. Since Roger was kind of short already, the Slytherin robe did fit around his shoulders, though he couldn't quite close it.

"We could charm it larger," Brian suggested.

"Nah, it's fine. It's not like I'll be in there long," Roger said. He adjusted the sides of the robe so that they at least covered his chest, and smiled. Even though the others couldn't tell there was anything there, Roger certainly could, and he found himself a bit self-conscious for the first time in his entire life. "Right, what's your password then?"

To his credit, Odin did hesitate for just a moment. "You won't tell anyone I gave it to you?"

"With any luck, they won't even realize," Brian said. "We're just going in there to get John out. Promise."

"It's 'Polyjuice' this week," Odin said. "Be careful. If they know there's a Hufflepuff in there..."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Roger said. "I'm worse than fleas, I know. They'll fumigate the place in case there's more."

Odin giggled, and Roger found himself actually liking the kid. He wasn't as bad as most Slytherins, though that seemed to be the trend lately. Perhaps the new generation would be better than the ones before.

"Okay. Guess I'm ready as ever," he said, giving the collar of the robe a sharp tug. "Where's the third-year dorms?"

"When you're inside, you'll see two spiral staircases going down," Odin said. "One to the right, one to the left. You'll want the one on the left. There's lights around it... then you'll count the torches going down. One-two-three. That's where the third-year dorms are."

The kid gave him a reassuring smile. Although Roger's stomach was currently trying to break the record for how many knots it could tie itself into, he gave a thumbs-up and nodded. "I'll see you later, then. I hope."

"In an hour," Freddie said. "Any more, and I'll hypnotize 'em all."

"No," Brian said sternly. "No. No, we'll get a professor. That's the _plan,_ Freddie. We're not letting you sing. Not ever again. Not with those scales on your neck. Let's go. We'll meet you in the courtyard, Rog."

"Yes, ma'am," Freddie grumbled.   
  
Roger listened to their footfalls and gentle banter until their voices faded out entirely.

And then he was alone. In the Slytherin dungeon.

"Whew. Okay. Let's do this," he said.

He probably should have asked for the location of the entrance, too, because it proved hideously difficult to find. Being the weekend, there weren't many kids coming and going, and apparently none of the students were in the mood to inadvertently show Roger the way. So he tried the password everywhere--on a few pillars, then on a portrait whose subject fled long ago, then on a rat skeleton, then, finally, on a completely nondescript, grey, slimy section of the floor.

The brick shimmered and opened up like pieces of a tangram splitting apart from the center. Unlike the passage, the stairs within the cellar opening were well-cleaned and carpeted with a plush, green rug that led downward toward much better lighting.

Taking one more deep breath, he descended into the serpent pit.   
  
It was too much.   
  
He'd heard about the opulence before, mostly in passing as he listened in on Slytherin conversations. Occasionally, John would mention the comfortable couches or the calm ambience, but now that Roger was there, he couldn't believe the beauty. It felt so out of place in the hidden depths of the musty dungeon, and yet here it was in all its splendor.

Filled to bursting with Slytherins.

He wandered through the common room, dizzy with the revelation that Slytherins actually lived like people and not like... well. Villains. Then again, it smelled so clean and sterile that it would drive Roger absolutely mad to have to spend his entire Hogwarts career within the confines of this dormitory. Even so, it still had a dungeony feel. The walls and ceilings were almost cave-like, strung with magical lights that glowed softly as they reflected off shimmering stalactites. False windows glimmered with green light as enchanted fire flickered on the other side of the glass.

The only warm glow came from an orange fire crackling in the hearth at the far end of the room.

He heard the sound of water - a quiet, constant, comforting bubble - that seemed to come from all around him.   
  
He was under the _lake._ Thinking about it, Roger realized it was the only possible place he could be! __  
  
As he leaned on the back of the couch to let his mind catch up with his eyes, a boy sitting properly on the other side asked, "Have I seen you before?"

Roger jumped a foot and yelled, "I'm a Slytherin!"

The boy gave him a curious look.

Quickly recovering, Roger stuck up his nose in his best imitation of a new-moneyed individual and drawled, "Well, I go to school here, don't I?"

The boy gave him one last apprising glare, then went back to his homework.

If Roger didn't find John and escape soon, he'd almost certainly be discovered, and he couldn't imagine this particular house would be very forgiving.

Trying to ignore the affluent elegance, he sauntered about, trying and failing to look like he had some sort of purpose. While the other students socialized or studied, Roger looked sorely out of place. He might as well have been wearing a sign that said "I'm a Hufflepuff!"

With relief, he found the doors Odin told him about--one on the left, and one on the right. The bricks around them were charmed to glow a soft green.

Ignoring the curious looks from the Slytherins, Roger hurried toward the door on the left.

The steps to the dormitories had a groove worn down the center of them from centuries of use, though they were rough enough so that he could keep his footing. Thankfully there were some smaller, glimmering magical orbs set into the walls to light the way, but it was the torches that caught Roger's attention. Burning brightly in viridian, they gave off no warmth nor scent, and even their light barely reached out an arm's length around them.

On his way down, he counted one, then two, then three.

Taking a deep breath, Roger pushed open the ancient wooden door at the third torch and entered.

The hinges creaked, announcing his arrival, but no one greeted him inside. As expected, everything was in perfect order, from the pristine carpets to the tidied beds with blackwood posts and sheer green draperies.

A window the height of the whole room shimmered with watery ripples. An impossible fire danced on the other side of the glass, casting a glow through the water and into the third-year dormitory. Roger couldn't help but utter a syllable of awe.

At first, he wondered if John might have run off, but then he noticed that the bed farthest from the door had a very un-orderly lump in it. When Roger cleared his throat, the lump shifted; the blanket pulled more tightly around it, and a gasp of alarm came from somewhere around the pillow.  
  
Ah. There he was. Probably.

"John," Roger whispered.

The lump remained frozen.

"John, it's Roger. Hey."

"Go away, Rog!"

Confused for a moment, Roger realized that the almost whimsical voice coming from under the quilt must have been John! It was higher than Brian's or Freddie's, and had an almost musical tone to it that made it completely different than before.

"You can't look any worse than Brian or Freddie," Roger tried. "Or me, though, uh..." He looked down at himself, turning his hands over. "The others don't really see it."

"It happened to you guys, too?" John asked, and Roger recognized his unique dialect at last. The blanket shifted a bit; an eye appeared from within a dark fold. "You don't look any different. You don't _sound_ any different."

"I'm a girl, dammit," Roger muttered to himself. "No one can bloody tell."

"Well, it's not somethin' to be excited about!" John griped. "Is it just us four?"

"Yeah. Come on out. Look, you're in good company. Brian says he needs your mind if we're gonna figure out how to fix things, anyway."

"You won't make fun of me?"

"Not this time, mate."

"All right. I guess."

It took a moment, probably as John deliberated with himself under the covers. Eventually, he sat up, pushing his hair back. The static made it stick up a bit, where it caught the glow from the torches, making it look like a green halo.

And Roger experienced a quick bout of vertigo, because his friend was tragically unrecognizable. His nose was so much smaller, and his neck thinner and more delicate. His jawline was softer, too. His eyes, though--those were exactly the same. Even on his completely changed face, John still had those expressive, angry grey-green eyes that told so much more about him than words ever could.

Roger found himself staring, and John pulled the covers back up to his chin. "Please don't tell me I'm ugly, too," he whimpered.

"John. No. John." Roger stepped around the other beds and sat next to John. He reached forward, pulling the covers down again. "You're beautiful."

John's eyes went wide. Obviously he'd cried at some point, since the green irises looked impossibly bright next to the bloodshot white parts. Without missing a beat, he threw himself down on the mattress and pulled his quilt back over his head. "I don't _want_ to be beautiful! I'm a boy!"

"You're very handsome, then?" Roger tried. He honestly couldn't believe the girl in the bed was actually John. Angry, temperamental John. Worse, his heart was fluttering, as if he just met the girl of his dreams, except she was one of his best friends, and not supposed to be a girl at all.

Roger took a deep breath. This was serious. He had to be serious. "Look, the sooner you get out of bed and brainstorm with Brian, the sooner you won't have to be beautiful anymore. Promise."

"Why aren't you beautiful?"

"I'm gorgeous, dammit!"

John pulled the covers down until his eyes were showing, at least. "People are going to recognize me. They'll stare."

Sometimes Roger forgot that not everyone liked to be admired like he and Freddie did. And while he knew no one would recognize this young lady who only bore a passing resemblance to John Deacon, Roger had to do something to make him feel comfortable enough to get him out of the dorm. "Um..." he said, tapping his chin. "Oh! I'll braid your hair! You never wear your hair back, so you'll look totally different. Right?"

Before John could answer, Roger jumped to his feet, searching the room for something he could use. Everything was so neat and pristine! Too neat! The Hufflepuff dormitory looked like an avalanche combined with an earthquake combined with a mudslide compared to this place. Still, he managed to find a brush on someone's dresser--which, notably, was _also_ clean and had no strands of hair whatsoever stuck into it like a normal brush. Then, with his patience running out, Roger tore a strip of cloth from someone's ugly dress robe hanging from a hook on the wall. By the time he turned around again, John was sitting up.

Unfortunately, John caught him staring, and narrowed his eyes. "Stop that."

Roger hurriedly looked away. "Sorry, John. You are really pretty, and I'm a guy."

After a long pause, John asked, "But why?"

"Why am I a guy?"

"No, idiot! Why am I so pretty!"

John rarely lost his temper at Roger anymore--or at Brian or Freddie. Cowed, Roger sat back on the bed, looking at his feet.

"I mean, I haven't even looked in the mirror yet," John went on. "I'm... I guess I'm scared of what I'm gonna see."

"You sure are taking this hard."

"Sorry, Rog. I... Just don't... I don't know what to do."

"We'll start by getting you and Brian talking." Roger took John's shoulders and turned him away so he could reach his hair. "Honestly, John, I think fewer people are gonna stare than you think. It's... Well it's the opposite of my problem. I look the same. You look too different. It's Brian and Freddie that mostly look like themselves, only--"

"Girls."

"Right."

Roger ran the brush through the reddish waves of John's hair, pulling them into three strands.

"How d'you know how to braid?"

Roger wove the strip of fabric through John's hair and doubled it up at the end. "I dunno. I just like to make things. Something I learned along the way, I guess." Running the ribbon through itself, he tied it into a bow at the end. Hopefully no one would recognize the strip of cloth as a scrap from their robe. "There. Done."

John reached back to run his fingers down the braid. "Thanks. I think."

"Yeah. Ah... You want me to turn around so you can get dressed?"

John turned to face him, confused. "Why would you turn around?"

Roger really hadn't expected to have to answer that question. Uncomfortable, he ran his fingers through his hair, scratching the back of his neck while he curled his lip in thought. The spell clearly affected John worse than the others, and it wasn't just in his face, either. Looking away, he gestured at John's chest, thankful that it was covered with a pajama top.

John looked down. "Oh. Yeah. Those," he grumbled. As clarity dawned, he exclaimed, "Oh _no,_ those! Roger, what am I gonna do about--"

"Relax! Just wear loose robes, it'll be fine."

"Stupid. It's all stupid! Fine!"

"I'll just... turn around then?" Roger asked.

"Yeah, thanks."

Roger slid down to the floor, his back against John's bed as he stared at his shoes. "You feel better?"

"Not really, but I guess I'll live." After a pause, he said, "My voice is..."

"Yeah, I know. Look, at least you aren't alone." Roger resisted the temptation to peek over his shoulder, because he had no doubts that John would have killed him. After a bit of rustling and what he thought might have been the sound of cloth against skin, he asked "You wouldn't have stayed in bed forever, would you? Eh?"

John didn't answer.

"John? Deaky?"

"I'm dressed," he said quietly.

The soft voice sent a shiver up Roger's spine. He ignored it and turned around, resting his elbows up on the bed. John was staring at himself in the polished silver mirror. "See?" Roger said. "You're pretty."

"I can't find myself," John whispered.

Roger's heart shattered. If he was the crying sort, he might have even cried. Climbing to his feet, he joined John--who might have been a statue, save for the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed--next to the mirror. Compared to the Slytherin, Roger was quite obviously himself, albeit with a few softer features.

John ran his hands over his face. He cheeks. His nose. Then, he shook his head.

"I know it's you," Roger said.

It sounded corny, but at least it made John smile, which, in turn, made Roger's heart skip a beat. "At least no one'll recognize you, right? S'what you were worried about."

"I didn't expect..." John's mouth pressed into a line, and he met Roger's eyes for a second. "It's all right. I can do this. Let's go."

"That's the spirit. Let's get out of here before someone wonders why I'm here." Eager to escape the dungeon, Roger bee-lined for the door. He'd already worn out his welcome for sure; with every second he remained, the chances some Slytherin would recognize him grew exponentially.

"How'd you managed to get in here, anyway?" John asked. "The password--"

"Some kid named Odin gave it to me. He was worried about you."

"Oh. Yeah, he talks to me every morning."

"I don't like him," Roger said. "Between him and you, you're breaking all my pre-conceived dislike of Slytherins in general. You aren't supposed to be nice."

Flatly, John said, "I'll make sure I tell him."

They climbed the stairs back into the common room. All seemed well, and it looked like they might even escape without incident, until they came to the group of students standing by the door.

Roger recognized one of them as the brute from the third floor corridor--not just by his appearance, but because he muttered, "I can't hurt you" under his breath as soon as he saw John.

Unfortunately, because of the fact that this particular spell affected said brute in a very specific fashion, his eyes widened in immediate recognition, which Roger hadn't counted on. Also unfortunately, the brute was more concerned about Roger. "You're that _Hufflepuff_ , " he said, giving Roger a good shove.

"Mike?" One of the other students asked.

"Yeah, the Hufflepuff that hangs out with _him_ all the time!" Mike-the-Brute said, jabbing a finger at John. He pulled his hand back as if burned, and muttered, "I can't hurt you," again. His posse gave him a strange look, though Mike was already adding, "or _her_ , rather! Everyone! Deacon's a _girl!_ "

John's face went bright red, his features distorting into a rage. Roger took the sleeve of his robe. "Let's just go, John," he whispered.

But John ripped his hand away. "I'd rather be a girl than an ugly bugbear with enough space between his ears to fit the whole of Hogwarts," John snapped. "Get out of my way."

Instead of snickering at John's unfortunate situation, Mike's posse broke into a chorus of laughter at their boss' humiliation instead.

Mike stared dumbly while John guided Roger around the whole lot. Before they climbed the stairs, John looked back and added, "You can't hurt me. Remember that."  
  


\---

  
John couldn't stop thinking about the image of himself in the mirror. It scared him. It was as if he'd completely disappeared, and there was a girl left in his place.

"That was amazing, Deaky!" Roger said as they climbed the stairs out of the dungeon. "I didn't know you had it in you. You've _never_ had a comeback like that before. It was perfect!" Then, he doubled over, taking a deep breath. "I gotta tell you, though, that was the scariest thing I've done in my whole life."

John couldn't help a smile. "Ah, I had all morning to think about it. I knew someone would say something stupid, so I... Well, I'd been rehearsing it..."

"It was _great_. We gotta tell Freddie and Brian what you said."

John stopped in his tracks, his feet frozen in place, refusing to move.

"John?" Roger asked, reaching for his sleeve. "C'mon. They'll be waiting in the courtyard. Are you okay?"

"Well, I'm out of the dormitory," John said. It was about the best answer he had. Even if he knew the others suffered the effects of the same spell, it still felt wrong to let them see him.  
  
"You are. See? It'll be all right."

Roger grabbed his sleeve again, leading him forward.

The fresh air felt good. Not too cold, though there were a few flakes of snow glittering in the air. He couldn't help thinking about his brutish housemate recognizing him, though... As well as the repercussions he'd suffer after such an insult. Maybe it would be better if he just returned to his dormitory and climbed under the blankets again. Perhaps he'd even tuck himself under the bed, too.

"Guys!" Roger called. "Hey, there they are. Let's go!" He pointed to an old picnic table and gave John's sleeve a tug.

Reluctantly, John followed. He knew Freddie and Brian were girls, too, but if they had changed as little as Roger had... Well, he could already feel the discomfort clawing its way up his spine.

But at they neared the table, John wrested his sleeve out of Roger's grip and hung back. The Ravenclaw and the Gryffindor at the table, while recognizable, were quite obviously girls--not like Roger was, but actual _girls._

Amazing. It was John's turn to stare. Being on the other side of this discovery gave him a little thrill. Had he not also been affected by the spell, he might have even found it amusing.

Brian looked up from his book and met his gaze with curiosity. He was pretty, John thought. Ridiculously tall and gangly for a girl, but still pretty. His crooked nose was evened out a bit, and the rest of his features were... Blurry. That was a good word for it. The girl was definitely Brian, but _blurred._

As Roger hopped up on the picnic table, Brian stood and elbowed Freddie, who stopped carving into the table with a claw and looked up.  
  
Freddie's change was unique. Not only was he female, but he had odd markings of sorts. Stripes on his face and neck that shimmered in a rainbow of colors.

Finally, John relaxed. Roger was right. He wasn’t alone.   
  
"Excuse me..." Brian said. John was actually a little shocked by his voice--still gentle, but lacking the pre-adolescent roughness of before. "Do we know... I mean, are you...?"  
  
"The eyes," Roger said with a lopsided smile. "Look closely."

John hated the scrutiny, but he tolerated it. It only reminded him of how different he'd become.

Eventually, Freddie gasped, breaking the silence. "Oh, Merlin, it _is_ John, Brian!"   
  
John couldn't read Brian's expression. The Ravenclaw took a step closer, his eyes wide and mixed with surprise and... something else. Discomfort? No, that wasn't it. There was a kindness there, as well. Pity and empathy.

And John found it impossible not to smile, so he did. Brian chuckled in relief.

"Look at you," John said.   
  
"And you," Brian returned. "You're gorgeous."   
  
John could feel his cheeks heating up. "I've..." He glanced at Roger. "I've heard."

"But we didn't even recognize you, dear!" Freddie blurted, though his tone was conciliatory. "Look at your little nose! It's adorable. And you've braided your hair--"

"I did that, actually!" Roger said.

John shrunk back. Without thinking much about it, he reached for his hood and pulled it over his head.

"Oh, dear." Freddie frowned. "Have I said something wrong?"

"No..." John muttered. "No, it's--it's just--"   
  
"He hasn't been having a good time of it. It's all right, John. C'mon." Roger patted the table next to him. "And he's a little upset, so don't be arses."   
  
"Sorry," Freddie muttered. His voice was almost musical, far more than it was before.

John hopped up on the table, leaning on Roger's shoulder. Roger reached over and pulled his hood down. John scowled. "It's not fair. I recognize all of you. Why am I...?"   
  
"Don't know," Freddie said. "Looks like we got a whole span, though. Roger might as well not have changed at all--"  
  
"Hey," Roger said. 

"It's true, though. And me and Brian are passable birds, I think." Freddie gave John's shoulder a pat, smiling, and hopped up on his opposite side. "You're just lucky, I guess."

"Lucky," John muttered.

Roger cast off the Slytherin robe, shivering against the cold before he reached for his own robe folded neatly on the table. Wrapping it around his shoulders, he wadded up Odin's clothing and set it down. "I'd trade places with you if I could, John. Not 'cuz I want to be all glamorous or anything." 

"Liar." Freddie smiled. 

"Right, okay, yeah," Roger said, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile. "I'm _very_ pretty. Imagine how pretty I'd be if the spell hit me as hard as it did John? You'd faint before me. I'd sparkle as brightly as Freddie's weird face-scales, wouldn't I?"

"They're not _weird,"_ Freddie said.

"Ah, well." Roger shrugged, then repeated, "I'd trade places with you if I could."

John smiled. He really did have the best friends.

Brian tutted, picking up the rumpled robe and re-folding it in a more dignified fashion. "Honestly, Rog, is this how you live?"

"Kinda! You shoulda seen Slytherin, though. It was like someone poured bleach in a hole and called it a dormitory!"

"It's not that bad!" John argued.

"Everything's polished and clean and so... Sanitized. And did you know they live _under the lake?"_

"Of course I did," Brian said. "And so would you if you'd read _Hogwarts: A History."_

"Can't be arsed. Besides, I have a walking, talking _Hogwarts: A History_ that follows me around everywhere, anyway. His name's Brian. He's a Ravenclaw."

"Hilarious," Brian drawled.

As Freddie chuckled, Roger grinned with a self-satisfied smirk. "Anyway, have you figured anything out yet?" he asked.

Brian shook his head, gesturing at the piles of books stacked precariously on the table. "Not at all. It's definitely not Polyjuice, because we don't have to keep re-taking the potion to hold our form. Besides, we don't look like anyone else; we look like ourselves. Except for John--sorry, John--There's one spell I found that gives you the _features_ of the opposite sex, but, er..."

"You keep your bits," Freddie said. "You should have seen Brian's face when he looked at the illustration--"

"Let's not talk about that, all right?" Brian said. "Besides, that only lasts an hour."

"Well, I've definitely been a girl for more than an hour," Roger said. "Even though you knuckle-heads can't tell."

"It's positively uncanny!" Freddie said. "Maybe with some make-up..."

"I thought it might be the Slytherins..." John started. The memories re-surfaced as his eyes glanced over the scarring left across the back of his hexed hand. The pockmarks were nearly gone now, though he could still see them. "The ones who hurt me last year."

"But I told them they couldn't hurt you anymore, darling," Freddie said. "Or I'd--well, let's just say it... It couldn't be."

"They haven't hurt me though, have they?" John asked. With as long as he'd been holed up in his bed, he had a lot of time to think about possible loopholes to Freddie's siren song. "First, they appear that one day you guys lured me to anger management, and then today, when we were leaving the dungeon--"

"They were there?" Freddie asked.

"One of them," Roger said. "The bigger one. His name's Mike, apparently."

John rubbed his cheeks again, fingers traveling down his jawline. Nothing felt right, but he was certainly unharmed, and not in the least bit of pain. "I remember. You told them they couldn't _hurt_ me. Specifically that word. You didn't say anything about transfiguration."

"Well I'll be," Freddie mused. "I thought I'd been quite clear."

"It makes sense, in a way!" Brian interjected. "They remember what happened. And maybe they wanted revenge--since we're friends, I guess. But John's affected the worst." He narrowed his eyes, arms crossing. "And then Freddie's a close second."

"I wouldn't call it the _worst."_ Freddie tossed his hair. "I find myself quite beautiful."   
  
"You say that all the time," Roger said. "Even if you aren't a girl. In fact, I'm sure you said it just yesterday."  
  
"It's true, but I definitely sparkle more now."   
  
"My point is that the two people who stopped them are the two who've been changed the most," Brian said.

Freddie held up a finger, though. "Ah, I told them they were to forget me."

That stumped Brian for a moment, then he shook his head. "Maybe you worded it wrong. Or maybe the magic has broken down over time. Um. Hum something. See if Roger and I are still immune."

Freddie _had_ said that his voice was weaker than that of a full siren. The idea that the Slytherin bullies did this was becoming more and more plausible, though John couldn't say how.  
  
"Oh, _now_ you want me to sing?" Freddie replied. "After telling me you didn't want a female siren singing in the school, you're willing to make that sacrifice _now?_ I don't think I will."   
  
"If you want me to figure this out, you will," Brian said.

"Fine, fine." Freddie made quite the show of being put out, rolling his eyes and sighing dramatically. Softly, he hummed just a handful of notes.   
  
John felt nothing. In fact, he was too busy trying to figure out how his housemates could have transfigured him, that he almost missed the fact that Brian and Roger zoned out a little. Still, he noticed the eerie blankness in Brian's eyes, and when Freddie stopped singing, Roger shuddered next to him and whipped his head back and forth.

"Whoa! What a _buzz,"_ Roger said. "You weren't kidding! That's powerful stuff!"

Brian blinked, rubbing his ear, looking as smug as ever. "It could be a sign of the magic breaking down. See?"

"Or it could just be that my _voice is different,"_ Freddie said. "And also much more powerful, I'd think. It's the female sirens that lure hundred of sailors to their deaths, you know. And in any case, you were able to break out of it as soon as I was done."

"Then it was what you told them!" Brian said. "How'd you--"

"I told them to forget I was there," Freddie snarled. "To forget it was me. Really, Brian. I think we've successfully unraveled this thread. Can we move on to--"

"Ah! There's the loophole," Brian exclaimed.

"What bloody loophole?" Freddie demanded.

Brian paced, now in deep thought. "If you don't phrase it perfectly, they could interpret it however their minds see fit. Right, John? That's why--You remember when John wrote out the command for you to give Roger and I? The one where we're not to react to your singing?"

"Yes, of course I do," Freddie said.   
  
"So the Slytherins very well might have forgotten you were _there_ , but they might remember that you did it _somehow._ And did you tell them to forget John was there?"

"Uh..." Freddie started. "Ah, no. No I didn't. Oh, bother. Well, when you put it that way, it does seem like the most likely scenario."

"And they were in the third floor corridor that one day," John said again. "They might have been doing something. It can't be coincidence."

He wanted to be angry. Now that he was done feeling sorry for himself, he had all the time in the world for anger. Hunching his shoulders, he scowled, thoughts of revenge obliterating a good portion of his rational thought.

"The question is..." Freddie gave John's shoulder a gentle poke. "How to we keep John here from cursing them long enough to figure out what they did?"

"Nah," Roger said. "That's not the question."

Freddie arched his eyebrows.

Roger said, "I think the question is, how are you going to deal with all of _them?"_ He gestured in a wide circle around the courtyard.

At least a dozen students were staring at Freddie, their eyes eerily focused. They stood in place, waiting for directions.

"Oh, bloody _hell!"_ Freddie shrieked. "Look what you've made me do. Get out of here! All of you! Go!"

As the hypnotized students turned to leave, Freddie jumped off the table in a panic. "No! Don't leave the school, you idiots! That's not at all what I meant! Wait!"

"I guess we'll be dealing with this later," Roger sighed.


	7. In Which John is Tired and Grouchy (Like Usual)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The professors would like to have a word.

It looked like a microscope.

For all intents and purposes, it functioned like one, too, although there was a little doohickey on the side that spun in the presence of magical auras or residues. At least, that's what Brian said; so far, the whirligig remained stationary, except for when Roger reached over to spin it, which he did quite often.

"Oh, would you stop already?" Brian asked. He pouted, brushing Roger's hand aside.

"But you haven't found anything!" Roger argued. A sharp _shh!_ Came from somewhere within the library's bookshelves.

"Spinning it isn't going to make me find something," Brian said. "It's only going to make me annoyed."

"I think this one's ready," Freddie said, holding a slide between his fingers.

Freddie looked a little strange today, mainly because he'd borrowed Roger's Quidditch Koal and smeared it under his eyes to cover the shimmering scales on his cheeks. Not because he wanted to hide them, but because the light kept reflecting into his eyes and blinding him.

Brian took the slide from Freddie. "This one is...?"

"A bit of dust from the room. I thought maybe it held some sort of latent spellstuff..."

"It's a good idea." Brian positioned the slide under the scope and twisted the dials to focus, which was all quite boring and devastatingly mundane to watch.

Roger slumped across the table, knocking an already-viewed slide to the floor, where it shattered, the glass tinkling across the tile.

"Really, Roger!" Freddie said. "I think this is all interesting, don't you? It might even help us figure out why the third floor was closed to classes!"

"It's closed because it's bloody hard to get to." Roger pulled out his wand and waved it over the broken slide, uttering a spell that sounded mostly right. The broken slide knit itself back together into what looked like a small glass marble.

"Well, that's not right," Freddie said.

Roger did his best to feign surprise. "It's not? It's what I was going for."

"Idiot," John said from the next chair over. Up until this point, he hadn't spoken a word.

And he sat with his arms crossed, swimming in a robe magically grown two or three sizes too large for his slight frame. Seizing the opportunity to bother something else, Roger grinned, peering around John's shoulder, his face much too close.

Merlin help him, John was so pretty.

"Hello, John!" Roger said.

"No," John replied.

"Johnnie!" Roger sang.

"Don't call me Johnnie!"

"Oh, leave him alone, Rog. He's tired." Freddie handed Brian another slide. "Try this one."

As Brian fitted the slide under the lens, Roger said, "Tired? What makes you think he's tired?"

"He's got bags under his eyes," Freddie replied. "Look, no offense darling, but being turned into a girl is no excuse to miss your sleep. You need it."

John pouted, his jaw set. "I would love to sleep," he grumbled.

"Well then?" Freddie asked, working on preparing another slide.

John curled his nose. "I got kicked out of my dorm room. And then I tried to sleep on the couch, but I was cold. And then people wouldn't leave me alone."

Oh.

"Sorry," Roger muttered.

John slouched in his chair. "It's all right. I'm not really mad at you."

"If you were, I'd be hexed or cursed by now," Roger said, which earned a tiny smile. John reached over and gave him a shove.

"Guys!" Freddie said. "Guys, look!"

The doohickey on the microscope was spinning.

Brian frowned at it, his eyes wide as if he hadn't expected anything to cause it to go off. "I checked everything already!" He said. "Where'd this come from?"

Freddie glanced down at his notebook. "There were some cauldrons in the room, remember? I just took a sample--"

"Those were Brian's cauldrons," John snapped. "He was using them right before you guys dragged me in there, remember? Unless he was cleaning them for fun. There's always magical residue left in cauldrons, unless they're brand new."

Brian relaxed, his shoulders slumping.

Freddie crossed another item off his list. "Well," he said. "It wasn't the cider, or the dust, or the mayonnaise in the sandwiches. It wasn't the turkey or the fish or the bread. Not the brick itself--I was hoping it was, since it was _hell_ to get a sample. Do you know how hard it is to get a sample of _brick?_ From a magical castle that _doesn't want to give it up?_ And, lastly, it wasn't the stuff inside the cauldron."

"We'll keep looking," Brian said. His voice shook as he put his head down in his hands.

"It's all right, Bri," Roger said. "We'll figure it out. Really."

"I'm gonna go get a couple more books," Brian muttered, pushing his chair back. Standing, he disappeared into the shelves.

There were so very many books in the library that Roger couldn't see how Brian could find anything helpful. Ravenclaws had a system, though, as if they had intimate, instinctive knowledge of where to find the information they needed. Sure, Brian kept coming up with nothing every time he dove into the rows and rows of ancient tomes, but he'd find something eventually.

"He's taking this hard," Freddie said.

"S'what I said about John yesterday," Roger said, elbowing the Slytherin, who batted his arm away.

"I was just drifting off," he grumbled.

"Oh, you don't want to do that," Freddie said. "If Pince catches you sleeping, she'll--well. There was this one time she made me re-shelve an entire cart of books, and she doesn't just give you a cart with a few books on it, either. She'll make sure there's a hundred, or two hundred, or _three._ Then she'll follow you around to make sure you do it right. She's got a mean streak, that one!"

John's eyes were suddenly wide open.

"Brian would love that job," Roger mused.

Freddie laughed. Even John chuckled.

But what a waste of a Sunday. Roger could have been out on his broom, practicing his moves, or thinking of who he wanted to invite to the Quidditch Quincentennial--if any girl would take him. Surely there would be a couple who wouldn't mind his current predicament, though he couldn't think of any offhand.

Grabbing a book off Brian's not-yet-read stack, he paged through it, though these were mostly first-year spells at this point. The four of them already exhausted the promising books earlier in the day; now they were grasping at straws.

Eventually, Brian returned with another book, the spine of which said _Healing Magical Mishaps and Arcane Accidents: thirtieth edition._ He set it down on the table, sat in his chair, and put his head down on the cover.

"Dear God!" Roger exclaimed. Another hissed "Shh!" erupted from somewhere closer to the front of the library. "He's trying osmosis. We're doomed!"

"There's actually a spell that allows you to insert a book's contents directly into your brain," John said, working the book out from under Brian's mane. He flipped it open, swishing through the pages without really reading them. "Unfortunately, you can only talk in phrases from the book for a minimum of thirty-six hours afterward, so it really depends on how committed you are to learning."

"How do you know the word 'osmosis?'" Freddie asked. "Heck, how to _I_ know the word 'osmosis?'"

"We've been hanging around Brian too long," Roger said. Reaching across the table, he pushed Brian's hair out of his eyes. Soulful hazel irises peered up at him, to which Roger smiled brightly. "Hey, what about that book you got in Hogsmeade? We haven't seen that one in the library. Think there's anything in there?"

"Uh..." Brian said, sitting up.

"Oh, yeah," Freddie said. "You were all excited about it, weren't you? Egads, Roger's right. It _isn't_ in this library, is it?"

"Well, it's pretty rare..." Brian twirled his hair around a finger. "It also _might_ be found in the... Uh..." He lowered his voice, leaning across the table. "That is to say, it's _definitely_ found in the restricted section of the library."

"And they let you buy it?" John asked. "Well, then, we _definitely_ need to see it."

Brian hesitated, tapping his fingers on the table.

"Well?" Roger asked. "Go get it."

"I can't very well bring a _restricted_ book into the open library," Brian whispered. "Can I? Madam Pince will take it away for sure. No--we'll have to look at it later. After I--After we're somewhere safer."

It was their best hope so far, though there were probably loads of books in the restricted section that could help them. Roger would much prefer not spending any more of his time among books, though he wouldn't mind if Brian and John spent their time looking. Yes, that was a sacrifice Roger would be willing to make--locking the nerds in with the dangerous books.

"I think we've read this one already," John muttered, paging through _Magical Mishaps._ "Is it strange that they're all blurring together... by... this--" his words tapered off into a wide yawn.

"They're blurring together 'cuz you're tired," Freddie said. "I swear I'm going to hex half of your house. Kicking you out of your dormitory. Did you ask the girls if you could bunk with them?"

"Yes. But they said no."

"Do you blame them?" Roger laughed. "A rooster in the hen house?"

John looked blank.

"He's not much of a rooster at the moment, is he?" Freddie asked, gesturing to John's chest. John crossed his arms.

"I'm not sure what the big deal is about girls anyway," John muttered.

Freddie gave him a consoling pat. "Me either, dear. It's all right."

Roger narrowed his eyes. "You--"

"Excuse me," a little voice said beside their table. It was Odin, holding an envelope in front of him, almost like a shield. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt... Hi, John. I'm glad you're out. You're very pretty. Is that okay to say?"

John smiled. "Yeah. For you."

Odin bit his lip, looking at Brian, who still has his head down on the table. "Er, I'm supposed to deliver this to Brian May, 'cuz the Headmistress said he was the least likely to lose it or set it on fire..."

Roger elbowed him, even though he was already starting to sit up. Brian glared at him, then took the envelope from Odin.

Opening the seal, he pulled out a sheet of parchment, which was written in the neatest, most flowing script Roger had ever seen. It was so old-fashioned that Roger couldn't even read it, so he had to ask, "What's it say?"

"McGonagall wants to see us. All of us," Brian said. His face was white as a ghost.

"Well, we can't very well be in trouble, can we?" Freddie asked, eyes narrowing. "It's not like we asked for this to happen. How'd she find out, anyway? It's the weekend. There's no classes!"

"You don't think my housemates went right to her?" John asked. "Present company excepted," he added, glancing at Odin.

Odin frowned. "You don't really think we're all...?"

John looked away. "All I'm saying is that if someone was going to purposely make her aware, it'd be them. Especially after what I said to Mike on our way out. When's she want to see us?"

"Now," Brian said.     
  


\---

  
An imposing stone gryffon guarded the spiral staircase, but the poor thing was cracked, chipped, and mortared in places as if it had seen better days. One wing barred the way, while the other was missing entirely. The rough edges were polished and softened, though Freddie felt he could have done a much better job had he been put to the task.

He caressed its face as Brian fumbled for the letter from the headmistress. The stone felt warm to the touch.

"Even the lobby's nice," Roger said, pushing his hand into a pile of plush red pillows.

"It's called an antechamber, Rog," Brian said, finally unfolding the note. "Lobbies are for hotels."

"And castles," Roger said, sticking up his nose and hugging the pillow to his chest. "Do you think the headmistress would mind if I stole this?"

"Put it back," John growled, whipping the pillow out of Roger's arms and flinging it back onto the couch.

Brian took a deep breath and met Freddie's eyes briefly, nodding.

"The password is..." Brian glanced back down at the note, then to the gryffon. "Pallas Cat."

The stone beast creaked to wakefulness, its one remaining eye blinking against the warm light. Like an old lion past its prime, it stood, folding in its wing and opening the way up the staircase. Without moving an inch more than it had to, it settled back onto the floor, once more a sad, dilapidated, inanimate statue.

"The poor thing," Freddie said. "I wonder what happened to him."

It really didn't matter at the moment, but it gave him something else to think about other than what awaited them at the top of the stairs. Of course Freddie still maintained that they hadn't done anything wrong at all to deserve a summons--except maybe failing to go to their professors with the problem in the first place.

Well, how could they be expected to think of everything?!

After several seconds, Freddie realized that all four of them were still gathered at the bottom of the stairs next to the old stone gryffon. "Oh, Merlin's ugly beard. I'll go, then, shall I?" he said, and Roger nodded, even giving him a tiny push.

Once he was on the stairs, he heard the steps of the others behind him, though he couldn't look back, or he'd surely lose his nerve. Focusing on the dark doorway at the top, Freddie forced one foot in front of the other until voices started resolving from the ambient quiet.

"...Rather impossible, don't you think? It's not every day..."

"Absurd is the word you're looking for, my dear Pomona. Of course it's a great mystery..."

"But it couldn't very well be a charm, could it?"

"That's Flitwick!" Brian hissed as they gathered just outside the door.

Freddie glanced over, experiencing an unwelcome stab of vertigo when he saw Brian's changed face. Here in such close proximity, he could see how the Ravenclaw's long face had less of an angle in the jawline. How the lump on his neck--what was it called again?--was completely absent. How his nose seemed so dainty compared to before...

And then Freddie realized that he, too, was a girl, and the wave of nausea that poured over him caused him to stumble forward, falling against John, who fell against Brian, and they all tumbled into the Headmistress' chambers.

"Oh, that was so smooth," Roger said. "Can we have a do-over?"

"I believe they're here," Flitwick said, his aged voice warm and friendly.

Freddie rubbed his temples, hissing through his teeth, trying to get himself grounded again. Eventually, he looked up into the stern face of Minerva McGonagall herself, who, despite the pile of students on her floor, offered the most sympathetic of smiles.

"You did take your time," McGonagall said, as Professors Sprout and Flitwick hurried forward to help them all to their feet. Slughorn reclined in a beautifully upholstered chaise lounge which could barely hold his bulk; Freddie's own head-of-house, the transfiguration professor Annalise Windwell, arranged another couple chairs in a half-circle in front of the Headmistress' desk.

"Sorry, Headmistress," Brian said. "I don't know when you gave Odin the note--we came as soon as we got it."

"That's quite all right, Mister May," Flitwick said, gesturing to the chairs. "Come on, then. Sit down, all of you. We have some things to discuss."

Freddie wished he would have washed the koal off his face before this little get-together. After all, the teachers were staring--as they had a right to do. One didn't see their students transfigured into girls every day, did they? Still, Freddie should have looked his best; he could only imagine the sparkling scales under his eyes earning Gryffindor a few dozen points just for being the most stunning scales anyone had ever seen.

Instead, they were covered with atrocious _tar._

"C'mon, John" Roger said gently. "It's all right."

Forgetting himself for the moment, Freddie turned to look at his Slytherin friend, who'd pulled his arms around himself and stood with his shoulder to the professors.

"He's not really--" Roger started. "I mean, he's--"

"I'm fine," John said, shoving Roger's hand away. To prove it, he stepped forward, whirled his oversized robes around one of the chairs, and plopped down into it. Immediately, he crossed his arms again.

"Well, you've all a right to take it badly," Slughorn said, raising a glass of something-or-other to toast Merlin-Knew-What. "What with the predicament you're in. I told you, Filius. Boys are boys. They wouldn't just be jolly about the whole thing. Of course, young Taylor here--aren't you the one who explodes my cauldrons at least once a week? Yes, he's the one, I'm sure of it. I'm not even sure what he's doing here."

"Support, I would think," Sprout said. "They _are_ friends."

Roger sighed a deep, long-suffering sigh and said, "Apparently I defy gender entirely."

Slughorn pulled his glasses down on his nose, then pushed them up again. "Are you saying...?"

"He looks exactly the same, doesn't he?" Sprout replied.

To Freddie, Roger muttered, "If this were some sort of book, this joke would be getting old by now."

" _To the point,"_ McGonagall said, sitting primly on her desk. "Word has reached us that you've undergone a transfiguration against your wills, which is a very serious offense. Especially since there doesn't appear to be an obvious cure for it."

On the other side of Freddie, John uttered the quietest of whimpers.

"That doesn't mean there's no hope," said Windwell. "Just that transfigurations, especially human transfigurations, can sometimes be beyond the scope of general knowledge."

"Of course you'll remember the Quittenturn Pact of 1442," Slughorn said, raising his glass again.

"Y--yes," Brian replied. "No wizard shall knowingly transfigure another against their will, save in situations of utmost importance and under the following circumstances--"

"Well, we don't need to hear all thirteen of them," Slughorn said. "I do admire that Ravenclaw spirit, boy. The number of books you must have in your head..."

Brian's cheeks reddened at the praise. A moment later, he sunk into his cushion, as if he was trying to disappear.

"The most important thing to remember about transfiguration is that there is often a way out of it. There must be," McGonagall said. "Each state of being demands an opposite. The opposite being--well, yourselves, for lack of a better description. It would help if we knew the precise spell, of course. Can any of you think of what may have caused this?"

They all looked at John.

John hunched his shoulders, but nodded. "There are... a few boys in my house."   
  
"Oh, Slytherin," Slughorn said, tsking. He shook his head.

"It might have been. Last year, they..." John's eyes widened. He met Freddie's gaze for a moment, his jaw hanging open in silent panic.

They really didn't have a choice but to tell, though. Did they? Freddie only hoped he wouldn't be expelled over it. "Go on, John," he said.

"There were three of them that I saw," John said. "They--"

"We're aware you were attacked in the dungeon," McGonagall said. "We sought the names of the students who did it, though we were told by Madam Pomfrey that you were in too much shock to remember."

"I know who they are," John said, his voice almost too quiet for anyone to hear. "But Freddie..."

Freddie nodded again.

"Please understand, Headmistress," John went on, his words pouring out of him like a breaking dam. "I think it was the only way. I think they really could have hurt me. Freddie started singing, and the boys went all blank and staring, and then Freddie told them they weren't to hurt me anymore, but Brian thinks it wasn't phrased quite right, and that they might have figured out that it was Freddie who did it--and also, they weren't told to forget about me, so they're probably mad at me, too, which means they wanted to find a way to--well if they were angry enough, they might have decided to transfigure--"

"Well, at least that's one mystery solved," McGonagall said. She turned to her desk for a moment. Freddie wondered if she had a button to instantly expel him from the school by sending him flying all the way back to his parents. But when she turned around, she only had a scrap of parchment and a quill. "If you'll write down the names of the students, Mister Deacon."

John nodded.

"As for you, Mister Mercury," McGonagall went on.

Freddie steeled himself for his punishment. He'd take it as well as he could. There might be tears, he reasoned, but it was only to be expected.

"Fifty points to Gryffindor."

Freddie's eyes widened.

"I know it's late by a year, but the bravest souls stand by their friends even in the darkest of times. And to solve such an encounter without blows, but with your own innate magic is truly worthy of the house of Gryffindor. Well done."

Freddie thought he might pass out. "Th--thank you, Headmistress."

John, whose eyes were wet with the stress of telling the story, gave him a weak smile.

"Oh, well that puts Hufflepuff even farther behind. Wonderful job, Fred," Roger said, though he, too, was smiling.

"Hush," Sprout said, "Or I'll take ten points from my own house for spoiling the moment."

After John finished writing the names, he handed the parchment back to McGonagall, who looked them over, nodded, and handed the scrap to Slughorn. "These boys," Slughorn grumbled. "Not exactly shiniest trinkets in the treasure hoard, but I'll look into it."

"Anything else you can think of?" Windwell asked.

For a moment, Freddie could only stare blankly. Surely the Slytherins would be the cause. But then he said, "The Gryffindor Quidditch team, after the game. They weren't exactly good sportsmen."

"I still don't think..." Roger said. "Well, I guess you can look into it. It _would_ be the kind of prank they'd pull."

"We..." Brian started, tugging at his curls with nervous distraction. "We've been meeting in a room. On the third floor. I thought... We _all_ thought... Some sort of old magic might have caused it. I've been checking things under an arcaniscope, but I haven't found anything."

"Maybe even the house elves," Roger said. "We stole--" He paused, guilty eyes rolling slowly toward the Headmistress. "I mean, we _liberated_ some lunch from the kitchens. What I mean is that, uh. You should have seen it. A mad stampede of house elves, forcing food into our open arms! It was carnage, Headmistress! Food everywhere! Fresh and in a picnic basket and everything. The _humanity._ You should have seen it! And then we didn't want it to go to waste, y'know, so we--"

"Oh, relax, Taylor," Sprout said. "If we punished every Hufflepuff who snuck food from the kitchens, we'd have no Hufflepuffs left!"

"These are good leads," McGonagall said. "Decent, at the very least. And, Mister May, we'll allow you to check one book out of the Restricted Section of the library at a time, under close supervision. Meanwhile, we'll be--"

"Why does he get to check out the book?" Roger asked.

McGonagall looked down her nose at him.

Roger laughed, nervous. "Right. Exploding cauldrons. And that one time I set fire to my curtains. With a spell for squeezing water from a rock. One time, and I'm not allowed near the cool books."

"Quite right," McGonagall said. "As I was saying, the five of us will also be searching for a cure. And I've been writing a letter to St. Mungo's to see if any of the healers have anything to say about it. If any of you think of anything else, you must let us know immediately. None of this secrecy."

Brian stood, brushing the wrinkles out of his robe. "We will, Headmistress."

The others stood, too. Freddie still felt a little too giddy to remain properly upright, so he balanced himself against Roger's shoulder. A whole _fifty points_ to Gryffindor! Perhaps he'd have to save his friends more often! Of course, he'd do that anyway, but the very notion of single-handedly securing the House Cup for Gryffindor wafted through his mind like the alluring scent of a fresh-baked pie. So delicious, he could almost taste it...

"One more thing, boys," Flitwick said, bustling forward. "We've had your things moved."

"Moved?" Freddie asked. "What? Why?"

"Where?" John asked.

And as if he couldn't resist having the last word, Roger supplied, "Who? When?" but everyone ignored him. Almost. Freddie rolled his eyes.

"When I commandeered Mister Hammerthorn to deliver your letter, he told me that you'd been evicted from your dormitory, Mister Deacon," McGonagall said gently. "And that you didn't exactly get a restful sleep. In the interest of giving you a place where you all can feel comfortable, as well as a place where you can look for a solution to this problem without distraction--and together--we've moved you all to temporary accommodations."

Brian scowled. Roger quietly asked John who "Mister Hammerthorn" was.

To Freddie, it all sounded like an enforced slumber party with his best friends, and he could live with that.


	8. Brian's Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take a look at that book Brian got from Hogsmeade. It's... promising and disappointing at the same time.

Within their temporary accommodations, Roger studied himself in the glass of a full-length mirror. Had this been a "fanfiction" on the internet--which he missed very, very much while he was at school, by the way--the internet, not the fanfiction, although he did dabble--this would be the point where the story would devolve into inappropriate territory.

Occasionally, Roger wondered if he was just a character in a story, what with all the weird things that happened to him. He wondered if he had the gift of fourth-wall awareness. He wondered if he could turn and face the audience--like on those cheesy eighties sitcoms his parents liked to watch--and give an aside to his loyal viewers.

He wondered if, just maybe, he was starting to crack up.

In any case, he had no desire to take this particular story into inappropriate territory. In fact, he felt like he was looking at someone else, and it made him profoundly uncomfortable, like he was in the wrong skin or something. Even if the others couldn't tell anything happened to him, Roger certainly could; he pulled his robe around him just a little tighter.

"Admiring yourself again, are you?" Freddie asked.

"You're confusing me with _you,"_ Roger said, breaking eye contact with his reflection.

"Ah, right. You're absolutely right."  
  
Freddie rolled off his bed, elbowed Roger aside, and admired himself in the mirror.

There were four beds in the room, each adorned with the proper house colors. At least, they _would have_ been proper had Roger not taken the blue and bronze bed, as he rationalized blue to be much more comfortable than yellow. Thankfully, Brian had himself too wrapped up in his books to complain, and sat as placidly as one could please on the bright yellow Hufflepuff comforter. At least half a dozen books lay open in front of him.

Meanwhile, on the green and silver bed, John snored softly, having passed out only seconds after sprawling onto it.

There was also a hearth burning with a low fire, and a plush purple rug that covered most of the room. Oh, and their trunks were here. Roger supposed that was all they really needed.

Freddie disagreed. "You know," he said. "They could have at least thought about making things a little more... I don't know. What's the word I'm looking for?"

"There's not yet a word to describe what you're looking for," Roger said, sitting on his stolen bed. "You're a bit high-maintenance."

"Just a bit?" Freddie asked, disappointed. "I've worked quite hard to make sure I'm _extremely_ high maintenance, thank you much. I've failed at life. I believe I shall have to retire."

Roger threw a pillow at him, missed, and sent it sailing into the midst of Brian's books. Half of them tumbled off the bed, crashing to the floor. John snorted in his sleep, said something vile and not usually heard in civil conversation, and rolled over with a bitterness usually reserved for the old and crotchety.

"I don't think I've heard him say _that_ exact series of words before," Freddie wondered. "He's quite creative, you know."

"Would you hush?" Brian asked, reaching down on the far side of the bed where the books had fallen. "We were supposed to work on fixing our problem in here, not throw pillows about."

Soundly chastised, Roger's shoulders slumped... Until Brian sat up not with a book, but with a shimmery black throw pillow, which he _threw,_ true to the pillow's name. Actually, Roger thought, he'd never actually seen a throw pillow thrown before, which struck him as a complete waste of a good pillow.   
  
So he threw it back.

"Really--" Freddie started, just before a pillow collided with his head.

And so it went. Miraculously, John managed to sleep through it, despite taking several direct hits--one to the head, even. He must have been very tired. Of course, none of them realized his evil genius until they discovered that, somehow, John had all the pillows stacked up under his arms, leaving them without any ammunition.

At least he looked comfortable.

"How'd he bloody do that?" Brian asked.

"Same way he stole all our candy in Hogsmeade, I suppose," Freddie said. "Our first pillow fight, and it's ruined by the Slytherin. I ask you, is anyone surprised? Anyone?" He looked to the others, who shook their heads.

John snored, content.

"Anyway," Freddie sighed. "We're here. We might as well have a look at your book, Bri."

"I've been looking at books," Brian said. He slid off the bed and tossed the moldy old library tomes into the middle of the room and onto the purple rug, one at a time. One of them belched out a cloud of electric fuchsia dust as the cover bounced open, then snapped shut. "I've lost my place in all of them, thanks to you two."

"Not those," Freddie said. "That book you were going on about in Hogsmeade. The one you were all excited over."

Brian looked blank for a moment. "Oh... Now? Uh, sure. It's in my trunk. Hang on."

Although Roger had reservations about picking up other peoples' messes (not to mention his own messes, if he was being perfectly honest) he crouched down, helping Freddie tidy the books Brian had thrown into the middle of the room. There were all sorts, including the one Brian was allowed to pull out of the restricted section of the library. While Roger had very little interest in potions or hexes or schoolwork of any kind, the restricted book stuck out to him as a bit of a curiosity.

He opened it.

 _UNAUTHORIZED VIEWING. PLEASE RETURN TO THE INTENDED STUDENT IMMEDIATELY. IF LOST, PLEASE RETURN TO THE LIBRARY OR ANY HOGWARTS PROFESSOR_ was printed on every single page. As if that wasn't enough, the book would literally say out loud, "UNAUTHORIZED VIEWING" every time Roger turned the page.

"I'm not sure whether to be impressed or pissed off," Roger muttered, adding the book to the top of the stack.

A shuffling of papers came from Brian's trunk. The Ravenclaw bent over it, shoving things from one side to the other. "Well, they have to protect the books somehow," he said. "A little old-fashioned, I suppose. Madam Pince told me they all scream if anyone tries to open them without taking them through the checkout process."

"Damn," Freddie muttered. "All over a bunch of books?"

Brian eventually found what he was looking for. Pulling the book out of his trunk, he sat with his back to the trunk, opening the cover. It creaked, the old leather straining against the ravages of time. "Well, all over a bunch of books containing the most powerful magic known to wizardkind," Brian said. "Anyway, if we're looking through this book, one of you had better wake John up. He wanted to see it, too."   
  
Roger and Freddie looked at each other. At the same time, they both held out their hands for a round of rock-paper-scissors.

Freddie's paper beat Roger's rock, which meant Roger ran a very real risk of finding himself cursed when this was all over. "Been nice knowing you both," he said, his imagination wandering toward his fate. Perhaps he'd be stuck speaking in rhyme for the rest of his life, which wouldn't be so bad. Speaking backward might be a bit worse, but he could live with that, too. Speaking _upside-down..._

Well, he wasn't sure that was possible, but if there was a curse for it, Roger absolutely believed that John knew it.

He plodded over to John's bedside as slowly as he could, as Freddie performed a silent victory dance. Brian rolled his eyes.

Roger sat down, though he couldn't imagine why he'd done it so gently. After all, the object was to wake John up! If he continued to delay the inevitable, he'd only prolong his punishment, he was sure.

And yet, the makeshift dormitory had grown so quiet, he could hear the whisper of Brian turning pages from across the room.   
  
_Fwip, fwip, fwip._

Okay. He could do this. "John," Roger said. A moment later, he realized he needed to say it out loud, not just in his head.

"John," he actually said, touching the Slytherin's shoulder.

He was so damn pretty. Roger hated that his mind went there, even if it was true. In his sleep, John even looked relatively harmless, with his jaw slack and his eyebrows relaxed. He did not, however, look _angelic._ Roger had always been led to believe that sleeping people were supposed to look innocent and beautiful in their sleep.

John was drooling a little.

"C'mon, buddy. Brian's lookin' through that book." He gave John's shoulder a little shake.

"Cut it out... Rog." John's irate response started quite loud and angry, then tapered off into a hushed murmur. His hand flew to his throat as he sat up. His eyes were as large as Freddie's ego.

"Uh..." Roger started. He tried not to notice the tears that materialized in John's eyes, and he tried very hard to ignore the tracks working their way down his cheeks. But he couldn't really miss the tremor of fear that shook the poor boy.

John took a deep breath, gritting his teeth. His eyes met Roger's just a second later, though they were full of something that looked almost like betrayal, as if Roger shouldn't have seen what he had. John grimaced and turned away, wordlessly draping his feet over the bed until his toes touched the floor.

And Roger felt terrible. He wished he could shut off the part of his brain that was attracted to one of his best friends. At best, he could only try not to make it so obvious. "John--"

"I'm fine," John snapped.

Roger could see Freddie just out of the corner of his eye. "Well, it's okay if you're--"

"I said I'm fine," John muttered, though it was soft, without any malice or tension. Still, Roger received a very distinct imperative from the tone. The conversation needed to be dropped, and it needed to be dropped _now._

"Good. Good, that's good. Brian's looking at the book." Roger gestured over his shoulder.

John turned. "Did you find anything?" 

"Yeah, actually," Brian said, with a note of interest to his voice. It raised curiously at the end, as if he hadn't expected to. By this point, Roger hadn't expected him to, either, so he very much understood the sentiment.

John used the sleeve of his robe to wipe his face. "Really?" he asked, jumping to his feet.

"Well, it's... It's..." Brian trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "Promising?"

They all sat in a circle on the floor with the book in the midst of them. The parchment pages were old and yellowed at the edges, with little spatters of what could have been tea, or mold, or even blood interspersed among the words. The illustrations were so old that they barely moved anymore, although now and then, one of them would twitch or shuffle in an unsettling way.

"You do find the strangest things, Brian," Freddie said, reading the title of the spell. "'Irvingtonstone's Role Reversal. Caution--Permanent.' Well, I do hope not."

The print was hard to decipher, though Roger thought he could make out the word _INGREDIENTS_ in marginally legible letters just above an ornately-drawn box.

"One cup of beetle-infested moss, scraped precisely at six in the morning," Freddie read. "A teaspoon of book lice? Really? This can't be real."

"A scale from the tail of a badger," Roger said. "Do badgers have scales?"

"That's a tough one," Brian muttered. "Uh... Look here. A cultured pod of agar kept at twenty-two degrees for a trio of moons. The clippings from the mudded hoof of a mooncalf. Freshly shed baby teeth from the mouth of a mandrake."

The other ingredients were similarly ridiculous.

"Strange that it's such a low temperature potion," John said. He tilted his head, then pulled the book into his lap. "Heated, not boiled. It's so different--all potions are specific on the heat requirements. Something I suppose Roger knows quite well."

Brightly, Roger said. "Yes! They explode if you're not careful!"

"The point is, every potion I've made takes the heat up to boiling at least once. It's essential for disbursing the ingredients properly."

Roger hadn't a clue what that meant. Potions, strictly speaking, were not his strong point.

"Well, that could be what the agar is for. Look at what you feed it." Brian pointed to a subsection of a subsection, which specified that the agar colony was to be fed a rich diet of...  
  
"Doxy blood? Revolting," Freddie groused.

"It is rather alive, though, isn't it?" Brian wondered. "You don't suppose...?"

John shrugged. "I haven't seen it used as an agitator before, but that's not to say it couldn't be. Perhaps if it's fed to bacteria..." He set the book down and turned the page.   
  
Preparation looked to be an absolute nightmare. All potions were nightmares, sure, but this one had so many twists and turns to it... So much precise timing and exact measuring, that the thought of having to brew something like this made Roger's head spin. "I don't think the Gryffindors could have done this," Roger said. "I don't think anyone could make this. Well, maybe Brian could, but..."

"Look at the effects," Freddie interrupted. "This is it! It must be. 'Causes delayed dizziness when imbibed. Takers be warned--plan on remaining stationary after partaking.' Remember how we were so dizzy after John's intervention?"

John snorted.

"We were!" Freddie said. "Look, it must have been in the sandwiches. It must have been! Or in the potato salad. Maybe... Maybe the potatoes were boiled in it!"

"No," John said. "Because you can't boil the potion, remember?" He tapped his chin. "But cider is cold. How thin do you think this potion is? There must be a description..." He picked up the book again and flipped back to the beginning. "Thin, like vinegar," he read. "If properly executed, it's slightly green and tasteless--this has to be it. And then..."

He flipped back to the effects. "Turns the imbiber from one s--s--"

"Aw!" Roger cooed. "He can't say sex!"

"I can!" John said. "From one--from boy to girl and vice-versa." He completed his edit by sticking out his tongue.

"All that searching, and it's been right under our nose the whole time, _"_ Brian started, his voice oddly flat. "I... Really hope this part isn't right." He pointed to the part in the title that said _Caution--Permanent._

"I think we've found what we're looking for," Freddie said, his voice severe as he took the book from John. "And if it is, we don't have forever to fix it. Look."

Under "Effects," it read, "This transfiguration becomes irreversible at the rise of the following New Moon."

John shivered so violently that Roger could see it.

Dejected, Freddie set the book down again. "Sure, we've got a bit of time," he said. "But that'll go by quickly."

At the bottom of the page, written in an ink so bright red that it shimmered, were the words 'WARNINGS AND CONSIDERATIONS:' Roger ran his fingers over the letters. Someone had pressed their quill so hard into the parchment that each stroke left a slight indentation. Perhaps they wanted to make absolutely sure that the warnings and considerations were adhered to, and felt that writing the words with just a little more force would ensure they were heeded.

He turned the page.

On the overleaf was a full-page drawing showing a man and a woman, with a double-ended arrow sketched between them.

The next page was missing, the remaining edge torn and ragged.

"So much for warnings and considerations," Roger muttered.

John grabbed the book, holding it by the spine with the pages turned downward toward the floor. Frantically, he shook it, as if the missing page were tucked somewhere else and would fall out with just a little coaxing. "It must be here!" John said. "What if it's got the cure on it? It must be curable!"

Brian winced.

And Roger couldn't help feeling like he was right back inside a fanfic on the internet, now with the added plot device of a ticking clock mechanism, with a side of Unnecessary Roadblock Soup.

A _missing page. Really!_  
  


\---

  
John couldn't stop thinking about how he could have let this happen to him. Maybe it made him less of a boy. Perhaps if he'd been a bit more vigilant, he could have stopped it from happening in the first place.

Maybe he was meant to be this way. Too shy, too withdrawn, too... too...

 _Too much of a girl._ The Slytherin boys told him as much once. He shouldn’t have considered it an insult. He still shouldn't have. But he couldn't help it.

Brian muttered beside him, "It couldn't have been the cider. I _checked_ the cider."

It seemed a little louder than necessary, as if he wanted John's input. But John, admittedly, was neck-deep in a mire of self-loathing and pity, from which he was uninclined to try to escape.

They navigated through the courtyard on their way to the library. Now that word had spread, several people stopped to stare, though John kept his eyes to the ground as much as he could. If he couldn't see _them,_ they couldn't see him, or so the saying went. And if no one saw him, this nightmare couldn't possibly be real.

Permanent. Irreversible. Very seldom were words like those used in the magical community. A spell was quite powerful if it could never be countered.

All John needed was some hope. Just a little bit of hope.

Then his thoughts cycled right back around to: _I wouldn't need hope at all if I'd been more of a man._

 _As if,_ another part of his mind added, _you could have withstood the effects of a powerful potion._

"But there's always the chance," Brian went on, "That this particular potion has an extremely short half-life..."

John grunted something that sounded vaguely like "maybe."

"Are you all right?" Brian asked.

John didn't know how to articulate how not-all right he was. Worse, he was angry that the other guys weren't having quite the same reaction, which made him feel like _even less of a man for being a baby about the whole thing._ "Why aren't you upset?" John asked. He tried to keep the sneer off his face. Really.

A rather long beat passed before Brian answered, "Do I not look upset?"

John growled, waved his hand, and trudged past a gaggle of giggling Hufflepuffs.

"Because I am!" Brian exclaimed, hurrying to catch up. "I mean, I'm not as... you know. Angry? As you are?"

"You should know what it's like," John said, the words flowing from his mouth before he could do the sensible thing and dam them in. "But you don't. You're all... You're all fine. Freddie treats it like a joke. And Roger..."

John couldn't possibly have been more jealous of Roger.

Brian was silent for quite some time as they passed through the front doors, then he said, "Well, I can empathize--"

"No! If you could, you'd have done by now!"

Stupid, John said to himself. Of course they knew what he was going through. _They were going through it, too._ And yet, they seemed so much less _out of sorts_ about it all.

Then again, they hadn't changed to the extent John had. Maybe that was it. John couldn't see himself in the mirror anymore--not as he was, anyway. What he could see were the obvious curves, which the others lacked, which made him that much more of a girl.

"John--" Brian tried.

And then John nearly collided with a Gryffindor going the other way.

He tried to step around, but the Gryffindor held out his hand and spat out a string of words that John couldn't make heads or tails of.

"What?" John asked.

The boy took a deep breath, his eyes wide, and asked, "Will you go to the ball with me?"

The ball? John must have looked confused, because the boy clarified: "The Quincentennial."

Dizziness swept over John and lifted him from his body, then unceremoniously dropped him back into it from several meters off the floor. The tile rushed up at him, though he caught himself before falling flat on his face. Partly out of anger, and partly from habit, he fished in his pocket for his wand.

"No," Brian said, grabbing John under the arms and lifting him back to his feet. "No cursing. No hexing. No."

The Gryffindor backed away. "I just..."

"And no to you, too," Brian snapped, more vehemently than John had ever heard him. "Now get out of here, before I hex you myself."

The Gryffindor scampered away.

"Thanks," John muttered.

"It'll be all right, John," Brian said. "I promise. We'll figure out how to fix this. Okay? Look." He ascended the first step on the Grand Staircase, turned, and put a hand on John's shoulder. "When that book was written... They didn't have the resources we have today. Did they? Maybe there was no way to reverse it then, but there is now. I'm sure of it. We'll keep looking."

John just needed a little hope. Just a little. Just--  
  
Past Brian's shoulder, John saw the Headmistress hurrying down the stairs. "Boys, I'm glad I found you," she said at the nearest landing. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded parchment before descending the rest of the way. "I've just gotten this letter, and I think you'll find it quite interesting."

Brian took it and unfolded it, holding it between them so John could read it, too:  
  


_Dearest Minerva--_

_We really must stop writing to each other under such dire circumstances! Promise we will have tea in Hogsmeade soon._

_As to your students' predicament, I set our young healers to researching our files, and they did come up with several cases of a similar spell which we file under the heading "Reversed" for what it does. It's likely that this particular case (as you described in such detail) was caused by a potion called Irvingtonstone's Role Reversal--Caution, Permanent, which is, of course, found in the book Past Your Lessons--Theoretical and Unproven Spellcasting for the Newly Initiated, Volume Two. _

_I am sorry to say that it does seem to be quite permanent, as the spell suggests, in most every case that has come through the hospital. However, there was one man in 1904 who successfully cured his condition. To our knowledge, he was the only one in magical history to do so._

_His name was Georj Humblegrunt. I have little history on him, other than what we learned from his short stay in St. Mungo's. He was delirious when he arrived, though after the mediwitches sat him up in a tub full of ice, he managed to convey that he cured the Role Reversal spell before passing out. Furthermore, witnesses corroborated that Mr. Humblegrunt spent nearly a month as a rather fetching young woman before falling dreadfully ill. The case matches the potion's specifications exactly. However, the patient succumbed to and perished from the Muggle illness called scarlet fever only two days after checking in. He never wrote down the cure, nor did anyone hear it from him verbally._

_Please do tell your students that there is hope, though! I wouldn't want them to think this isn't curable. Hopefully with a name and a bit of research, they'll be able to solve the case where we couldn't. Young ones are resilient, after all. And we've had no reason to research it further, due to its abridgement from nearly every spellcasting volume in the last century. For good reason, I should think._

_Mr. Humblegrunt's last known residence was in Exeter, within a small, hidden wizarding borough called Swordsmith-in-Hilt. Perhaps he has some relatives there._

_Best of luck to all of you, and I hope to see you soon!_

_Faithfully,_

_Renalda Prancegriff, MW-DrdN_   
  


  
"It's curable," John whispered.

Some switch went off in his mind. It was the only way he could describe it; one moment he felt as if he'd be depressed forever, and in the next moment, he felt as if everything would be okay.

When he looked up at the Headmistress, she wore a little smile. "You'll still have work to do," she said. "We all will. I do have something else for you, too. Here." She held out another parchment, this one rolled into a thin scroll. "Ms. Windwell dabbles in ancestry, as it turns out. When we got the owl from St. Mungo's this morning, she went to work finding you a dozen possible descendants of Mister Humblrgrunt."

"We'll split them up," Brian said, taking the scroll. "Between the three of us."

John knew exactly what he meant, but for the Headmistresses benefit, he said, "We don't let Roger write letters anymore, Ma'am. Not after last time."

McGonagall looked as if she might ask for a bit of an explanation, but ultimately, she just shook her head. "Use this information well, boys. It may be the best lead we have."

Without even the hint of a farewell, she retreated back up the stairs.


	9. Freddie is Helpful. Really.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Freddie has an idea, it usually turns out to be a good one. That doesn't mean it's necessarily safe, though.

_Dear Mr. Humboldt,_ Freddie wrote. He thought that "Humboldt" was a fair measure more dignified than "Humblegrunt," and while it hardly compared to the magnificence of "Mercury" (though no name ever would, of course) Freddie could see why the name had evolved into its current form.  
  
Over the last three days, John and Brian had each written several letters, but received only a few replies in return. Two of them equated to "Sorry, can't help you," and the last owl simply carried a message with the word "Who?" written on the parchment.

Roger suggested that the owl couldn't be arsed to get its message to the intended recipient, and so had written its own response to save face.

After John discovered that Freddie hadn't written any of his inquiries, he threatened to give the three remaining names to Roger, which, of course, set Freddie to writing immediately. Had they allowed Roger to write even one letter, the results--

Well, Freddie didn't want to think of the results. He shivered at the thought as he tapped his quill against the table.

"Hm," he muttered. Taking out his wand, he magicked his salutation away and re-wrote: _Dearest Mr. Humboldt,_ instead. If he worded this properly and appealed to the man's ego, perhaps they'd get a better lead. "Inspiration," Freddie said to himself. If Mr. Humboldt didn't know anything, perhaps he could inspire the man to search for some of the answers they needed.

And they'd need something soon. John managed to hex one Hufflepuff who asked him to the dance before Brian could stop him. Although, after the last few days, John's indifference grew exponentially, until the Slytherin wore an almost perpetual blank look upon his attractive features.

"Don't you think he's pretty?" Roger asked, tossing a quaffle. It thudded off the ceiling with an annoying _bonk_ and fell perfectly back into Roger's hands.

Freddie did a quick look around to make sure John hadn't secretly returned. John held the equivalent of a Master's Degree in Sneaking, so Freddie needed ascertain he was still absent before he answered.

"If you like that sort of thing," Freddie said. Then he wrote, _I, as well as my three closest friends, have gotten ourselves into a bit of a predicament, you see..._

"What do you mean?" Roger asked. "He's gorgeous. It's all I can do not to ask him to the ball myself."

Freddie turned, one arm resting on the back of his chair. Today, Roger's eyes were purple, though they occasionally shifted to blue as the rain turned to sleet, then back again. "If you do, he'll hex your eyes right out of your skull."

"I'm aware." Roger tossed the quaffle again. Dust rained down from above, spotting the dark blue quilt. "It'd almost be worth it if it wouldn't absolutely devastate him."

"Are you actually doing something nice for someone?" Freddie asked, turning back to his letter. He wrote, _We've come under the effects of a Role Reversal spell, something which I'm sure you know much about and more, given that it's affected one of your ancestors._ He chewed on the feathery end of his quill for a moment, before adding, _We're in dire need of an expert, so of course, we could think of only one person to contact._

"I'm nice!" Roger sat up, pouting. "I'm nice all the time."

Freddie chuckled.

"But you really don't think he's pretty?" Roger asked. "Maybe I'm crazy."

"Well, he is." Freddie paused to write, _Even though we're running out of time, we knew that you would be our sole contact right from the start. We're absolutely counting on you._ "In... You know. A fashion that I can appreciate. He has all the markings of a beautiful woman. The shiny hair, the shimmering eyes. The cute little nose. The... He gestured at his chest and said, "The way his clothes fit."

He'd appealed enough to Mr. Humboldt's expertise. For now. _Of course,_ he went on to write, _We've high hopes that you possess some knowledge of the happenings of one Georj Humblegrunt, your--_

Freddie realized he didn't know the relationship between the two, so he magicked the word "your" away.

"Huh," Roger said. He set the quaffle on the bed and crossed the room so he could lean on the back of Freddie's chair, looking over his shoulder. "Really?"

"Really," Freddie said. "It's almost easier that I'm a girl now. S'what I thought anyway, back when it happened."

He wrote a bit about Georj's foray into magical gender-bending, which was difficult with Roger watching every quillstroke he made.

"Whatever do you mean?" Roger asked with an innocent tone that suggested he was leading.

Freddie sighed. "I know you've suspected. Why not just say it?"

Roger hopped up on the desk, which almost caused it to tip over onto its side. It took Freddie practically laying on it to keep it upright, and in the process, he knocked over his inkwell. Thankfully, the black rivulet that coursed from the bottle missed the parchment entirely. With a syllable of irritation, he dipped his quill into the ink puddle on the desk and wrote, _We have two weeks left--approximately--as of the writing of this letter._

"I dunno," Roger said, heedless of Freddie's struggle to save him from being crushed by a falling writing desk. "Seems like something you ought to tell us yourself." Then he added, "You really think it's easier that you're a girl?"

"Yes and no," Freddie said. "Mostly no, as far as I'm concerned, but definitely yes as far as society cares."

"Fuck society," Roger said.

"You're picking up John's colorful metaphors."

"I know!" Roger beamed. "They're great. You know, when used sparingly. John needs to learn to hold back sometimes, 'cuz it gives 'em a real punch if you use 'em right."

"The thing is, I want to be with other gay boys," Freddie said. "I don't want to be in a--you know. A straight relationship. There's something different about it. Or, I'd think anyway." He mistakenly scratched his chin with the business end of the quill. He'd have a black streak to get rid of later. "And these scales under my eyes. I'd rip them off if I could!"

Even now, the light bouncing into his eyes _vexed him._ Vexed was an amazing word, he thought, and wrote, _We have been vexed by this spell, and we know, with your wisdom, you can set us on the road to a solution._

"Vexed?" Roger asked.

"It works," Freddie said. "I like pretty words."

"Anyway, I thought you liked your scales."

"I did." Freddie rubbed at them. Not only were they beautiful, but the smooth texture appealed to his sense of touch. If he could keep them when he cured the spell, it might not be so bad. Any partner with which he ended up would find them quite handsome, he was sure.

"So, you like boys," Roger said.

"Seems like it," Freddie replied.

"Yeah, you're right. I think we all kinda knew. Maybe not John..." He trailed off with a soft 'hm.' "John's a little different, I think. I never see him look at anyone. Or talk about anyone. Do you think he likes someone?"

"Like you?" Freddie asked, with his best crooked smile.

"No! Maybe. That'd be a little weird when we're all changed back, though, wouldn't it? I'm pretty sure I'm not gay."

"You're currently a girl who's head-over-heels for the most beautiful girl in the castle," Freddie said. "That's pretty gay."

"You can't tell him," Roger said.

"I won't," Freddie said, although half of his mind whispered that he absolutely _was_ going to tell John, at the very first opportunity. Freddie didn't know which half of his mind to believe.

Finishing the letter, he carefully considered the closing, then wrote, _With hope, Taerfredi Mercury._

"Tae- Tuh--" Roger puzzled.

"Taerfredi. It's a siren name. You didn't actually think my name was Freddie, did you?"

"Huh," Roger said. "Well, I've learned two things about you today." He hopped off the desk, which almost unbalanced it again. "Let's get this masterpiece to the owlery then, eh?"  
  


\---

  
Later that day, Freddie sat in class, paying as little attention as possible. It's not that he was a bad student, nor did he think that turning a bumblebee from yellow to purple wasn't a skill of the utmost importance. It's just that he had much more pressing matters on his mind.  
  
Of course, he still absorbed some of the lesson, as he was wont to do. "And remember your wand skills, children!" Flitwick piped. "Down, swirl to the _West,_ then down again!"

Apparently swirling to the east would just earn you a giant bumblebee for your troubles, and no one wanted _that._

"One of the few spells with an English word in it--" Flitwick went on.

Freddie gently ran a finger over the fuzz on his bumblebee's back. It was surprisingly tame for a stinging insect, which meant it was either magically stunned or magically domesticated. Perhaps it knew its purpose, or maybe a prize waited for it at the end of the lesson. More than likely, though, the poor thing was stuck, just like Freddie and his friends.

"As you're well aware..." Flitwick stepped up to the podium, then stepped up onto his riser. "Some more modern spells, especially those discovered since 1800, possess a different _kind_ of magic. Magic that draws on--"

Freddie didn't really care. And yet, his ears--his damnable, cropped ears--betrayed him and continued listening. THE NERVE!

"--A living element. Of course, if you were paying attention in our last lesson, and I'm sure you all were, we know that this magic is still poorly understood and sometimes even unpredictable!"

Freddie checked the watch on the wrist of the Slytherin sitting next to him. Five minutes. He scribbled something down about Flitwick's living elements in his notes.

One of Freddie's housemates raised her hand and asked, "Is that what we're doing today? The..." She trailed off, looking down at her scroll. "Living elements?"

"Not exactly. This can potentially lead into it, though, as--"

Freddie needed a plan. He needed an idea. Just a little one. Just...

"One of the most interesting living elements exists in our very library. Book lice are very magical!"

Wait.

_Wait._

Freddie raised his hand. "Sir, what's that about book lice?"

Flitwick, delighted that Freddie seemed to be taking an interest in the lesson, said, "Yes! Such a lowly, tiny creature contains one of the most interesting threads of life in all the world! Ah, such a pity that they're so poorly understood."

"Well, why don't we research them more?" Freddie asked.

Flitwick arched his eyebrows, shrugging in a way that suggested he'd asked the same question, once upon a time. "Wizards are so set in their ways, young Freddie. It'd be a miracle if we could make even a little progress on the study of living elements within the next hundred years--" A tinny, musical note wafted up from the device on Flitwick's wrist, and he said, "Ah, that's class for today, my pupils! I shall see you next time. And we'll make sure to leave a couple minutes for changing our bumblebees' color!"

As he gently guided his bumblebee back into its vial, Freddie formulated a plan. It might not be a good plan. Hell, it might even get him in serious trouble. But it was a _plan,_ and at least he'd be doing something.

First things first. He had to find John.

Before leaving, he grabbed the wrist of the Slytherin next to him, who gave Freddie _just enough time_ to check his watch before ripping his arm away. "What are you on, Mercury?" he demanded, though he allowed his gaze to linger a couple extra seconds. "You... You are Mercury, aren't you?"

Freddie batted his eyes. The Slytherin blushed, though Freddie had no time to enjoy the embarrassment. He had to get to a much more agreeable Slytherin before he escaped into the dungeon.

For some reason Freddie couldn't fathom, John liked to spend his study hours in his own house, rather than in their temporary room. For a kid who disliked Slytherin as much as John did, he sure liked to spend a lot of time with them.

Gathering his things under his arm, Freddie dashed from the charms room and narrowly missed mowing over a Ravenclaw coming from the other direction. He squeaked a hurried "sorry!" in a voice higher than he would have liked, navigated his way down the corridor, and--

And his _stairs were moving!_

Damn! If John escaped, it could be a whole _two hours_ before Freddie got another chance to talk to him, and that was time they didn't have! Well, they did. They had a couple weeks. The point was that if Freddie didn't share his idea right now, he might very well chicken out from telling it entirely, and cowardice was an unbecoming trait in a Gryffindor.

Timing his leap as precisely as possible, and without thinking of his own welfare, he leapt across the chasm between his landing and the next. Falling hard, he rolled onto his shoulder and caught the bannister of the next flight so he didn't topple down the rest of the way.

And he heard a cheer.

Righting himself, he glanced back at the stairway he'd just left to see his housemates--as well as a couple Slytherins--applauding his daring feat. "Don't tell the professors!" he called over his shoulder, doffing an imaginary hat as he hurried down the stairs.

He reached the Great Hall just in time to see John veering off toward the Slytherin dungeon. "John!" he called. "John, John, John, John!"

John turned, with a glare usually only reserved for those who truly bothered him. Or Roger.

When he saw it was Freddie, he brightened significantly. "Oh, Fred. I didn't recognize your voice."

Understandable, and forgivable under the circumstances. Wrapping his arm around John's, Freddie drew him aside, out of the stream of people trying to make their way down the stairs. "Look, I have an idea. One that's gonna help us get this solved. But I'm going to need your help to do it." Freddie smiled in a way that usually got people to do what he wanted them to do. Said smile never worked on John.

"Uh... huh." John muttered, his eyes narrowing. "This is going to come back to bite me in the ass, isn't it?"

"Probably," Freddie said. "But you're in, right?"

After a brief span of deliberation, which seemed to Freddie to last more than an hour, John said, "Fine."  
  


\---

  
This could get them expelled.

And, considering that John had no sense of adventure to speak of, he really had no sense of adventure to appeal to, so he couldn't be sure what Freddie was on about the whole time he was trying to explain it.

"And Brian says he already _has the book,"_ Freddie muttered as they tip-toed down the dark halls. "But that's just it. He doesn't have the whole book. There's--"

"The missing page, I know," John replied. He peered around the corner, searching for the caretaker's kitten.

Legend had it that Filch possessed the meanest of felines in the past--a temperamental tabby named Mrs. Norris, who could not be bribed or persuaded, and who maintained the staunchest loyalty to her owner. But Wee Norris, the kitten, had a weakness.

Well, she had a weakness according to Roger, who often exploited it to sneak around at night. Neither John nor Freddie had ever tested it, yet here they were, at quarter to midnight, with only a tin of anchovies and a prayer.

Pickled anchovies, steeped in murtlap essence, which would pacify the feline for hours. Supposedly.

"Do you see her?" Freddie asked.

"She's just at the end of the hall," John replied. Wee Norris' eyes glowed like beacons in the dim light. "Watching me. She knows I'm here--how do I...?"

"Here." Freddie took the tin, looked both ways up and down the corridor, and stepped into it, crouching down. "C'mere, kitty. It's all right."

The low flames from the torches glinted off his scales, causing a dancing pattern of light on the brick walls. That, more than the anchovies, seemed to interest the kitten, who galumphed down the hall in pursuit of them, drawing closer and closer and closer...

Until she caught a whiff of the fish.

Her ears perked forward, at which point she lost interest in the light. "There we are," Freddie cooed. "Come on, then. Come on, we're all right. See? John, say something nice."

If a cat could look suspicious, Wee Norris certainly did. "Uh. Good kitty."

"Do you think all his cats have been named Norris?" Freddie asked, as the kitten reached out a paw to poke at the tin. Freddie set it on the floor, after which John was treated to the rather sickening sound of cat teeth squelching into fishflesh.

"How should I know? Brian probably knows."

"Probably." Freddie scratched between Wee Norris' shoulders, and she began to purr as she indulged herself. "Okay, we have to get to the library."

"Already?" John asked. "Isn't there--uh..."

"Yes, now. Of course now," Freddie snapped, his voice just a little strained. That made John feel a little better. In some regard, Freddie know this was reckless, and had some of the same reservations John did. That would make him careful, at the very least.

"All right. Okay. Let's get this over with."

Freddie led the way.

Earlier in the day, he showed John his notes, which had metaphorical holes in them so large that anyone could have stepped clear through them. Living essences and book lice and something about purple bumblebees... It took John a full hour to figure out what the lesson even was. He had to admit, though, the information held merit. And it made John even more curious to learn what was on the missing page from Brian's book.   
  
Because _a teaspoon of book lice_ was a lot of book lice.

Even as a pureblood, he had to curse the ways of wizard purists for not pursuing this new type of magic. They only ever touched on it in school, and only then for the shortest of lessons, if Freddie was to be believed. If John could figure out how it related to the spell, he might be able to figure out how to change them all back into young men. Which meant he had to read the warnings and considerations, and hope they contained something useful.

Of course, Brian got a copy of the book with _that page missing._ Convenient. But after searching through the book in hopes of finding it, John found other pages missing, as well, which explained why Brian was able to get a copy of the book in Hogsmeade, as a student, and at an affordable price.

He'd thoroughly berated Brian after that discovery. What good was a book with a dozen pages missing from it!?

"Okay," Freddie said, and John realized they were standing outside the library. "Roger says Wee Norris'll be busy with those fish for at least five minutes--"

"Five?!" John hissed. "That's all the time we have?!"

"It's _here,_ " Freddie said. "I checked the card catalogue earlier today. It's here! We just need to pop in and get it!"

_"From the restricted section!"_

"That's where you come in," Freddie said. "You're going to _accio_ the book, and I'll check it out so it doesn't scream at us."

John gritted his teeth. He should have made Freddie explain the plan much earlier than this. But now they were here, and there was little to be done about it. Except--

"The spell!" John said. "There's safeguards--"

"That's why _you're_ here!" Freddie said. "Don't think we all haven't noticed that you can use a summoning spell without speaking a word."

Drat. Of course they would have caught on. Sure, a silent spell would leave a tiny magical register, but it'd be nearly undetectable. Damn! "You thought this through," John grudgingly muttered.

"You know, for... a minute or two, yes," Freddie replied, opening the door just wide enough for them to slip through.

John could think of all sorts of ways they could be caught and expelled. Should Peeves be about in the library this evening, they were toast--as his muggleborn friends would say. Or, if Pince was here, doing late work, or--

"Calm down, John," Freddie said. He reached to lay a hand on John's chest, thought better of it, and rested his hand on John's shoulder, instead. "It's all right. If we get caught, I'll tell them I dragged you here."

"We'd best not get caught," John returned.

"That would be ideal." Freddie peered around a shelf and motioned for John to follow. "C'mon, then."

Unlike the rest of the school, all torches in the library were extinguished after dark, for a very rational reason. Books burned. Even magical books. And should a mouse or a twist of fate or a mischievous poltergeist choose to knock a lit torch over, the whole place would be up in flames before anyone would notice. At least the moon was nearly full. Its light, shining through the stained glass windows, was all they had by which to see. It was enough.

When at last they stood outside the gate into the restricted section, with its menacing black steel rails towering over them, Freddie gave him a nod. John, who was sure the act of casting a spell at a restricted book was the worst idea anyone ever had, nevertheless reached into his pocket and closed his fingers around his wand.

The book should have immediately flown into his hand.

It did not.

"Well?" Freddie said.

"It must be safeguarded," John replied.

"Try again," Freddie said.

John did, with the same result, and shook his head.

Freddie muttered something under his breath, then reached over, took a moment to consider, and lifted the latch on the gate.

"No!" John said. "Nope, we're not doing this. We're leaving! _What point is there to a gate if it's bloody unlocked, anyway!"_

"Aesthetic," Freddie said. "Come on, we're getting that book."

John only had two choices. He could leave and possibly get caught without his alibi Gryffindor, or he could follow and possibly get caught in the restricted section of the library. Which, with or without a convenient Gryffindor accomplice probably meant he'd spend the rest of his life in detention, at the very best.

He followed. In the end, he didn't want Freddie to get caught alone.

And they _would_ be caught. John just knew it.

"I remember the section," Freddie said, leading them through the rows and rows of books, which were somehow even darker than the unrestricted shelves, despite having the same moonlight cast on them. John wondered if the relative darkness of the library at night was more about Freddie's aesthetic than about the safety of torches. After all, they were wizards. They ought to be able to make a torch that wouldn't set things on fire.

"It's... Here. Section Neptune-Eight-A-Four." Freddie peered around the shelf, probably checking to make sure Wee Norris hadn't finished her fish and followed them.

John wondered how the restricted section could be almost as large as the rest of the library. He'd never been here before; after all, he had little reason to be. Most students never set their eyes on a restricted book until their sixth or seventh year, and then only for intensive study projects.

He wished he could read the restricted curses.

Freddie tapped his fingers against the spines of the book, muttering numbers to himself, until they came to--

An empty hole.

A book roughly the size of Brian's would have fit within it easily. In fact, the number Freddie now repeated over and over _also_ would have fit in the spot nicely, right between four-oh-three and four-oh-five. But there was no four-oh-four.

"It's not here!" Freddie said. "That's why you couldn't summon it. Someone's checked it out! Do you know what that means?"

"We did all this for _nothing._ " John said. "And we're going to get caught. So let's get out of--"

The door creaked open, the menacing squeak pervading the library and heralding their doom. Sure, the door hadn't squeaked when Freddie and John arrived, but now that they were in the process of being discovered, the door must have felt that it ought to be extra spooky, just to set the mood.

"Kids in the library." The ancient, strained voice, carrying just a hint of glee, reached John's ears.

"Filch!" Freddie whispered.

"I'm aware!" John hissed back, gritting his teeth.

At least John, much to his pride, did his best thinking under duress. If he could just take a moment to figure out how to escape, he was sure they'd think of something.

Freddie led him around another bay of shelves. At the end of the corridor, Wee Norris sat, her firefly eyes watching them with keen interest. "You don't have another tin of anchovies, do you?" Freddie asked.

"No. I only got the one."

Freddie swore an oath to Triton and retreated behind another row of shelves. Wee Norris immediately appeared at the end of that one, too.

"What do you suppose they're doing in here, my kitten?" Filch asked. "We'll rip off their toes one by one to get our answers!"

His threat dissolved into a maniacal laugh.

"If we die tonight, you ought to know that Roger's got a crush on you," Freddie said, quite out of nowhere.

"What?"

"You heard me. He's smitten. I wasn't supposed to tell you."

"Good job of that. Thanks," John said, wishing he could crawl into a hole or something.

"Well, he's been gentlemanly about it, hasn't he?" Freddie asked.

John had to admit, Roger had been awfully nice about the whole thing.

They saw a flickering light closing in on them. Freddie led them back around to section Neptune-Eight-A-Four again, where they hid behind a re-shelving cart. "If we can just get to the gate again..." Freddie muttered.

But John's mind was thoroughly stuck on Freddie's revelation. He could think of little else except for a terrible idea that struck him like a lightning bolt, which could very well alleviate the problem of half the school's male population wanting to ask him to the Quincentennial Ball. Sure, it wasn't as terrible an idea as sneaking around in the restricted section of the library at midnight, to be sure. But a terrible idea all the same.

"John, now would be the time for your brilliance," Freddie said through clenched teeth.

Then, suddenly, the answer came to him. "Sing," John said.

Freddie stared at him as if he'd grown a few extra eyes. "But--"

"Sing!" John said. "Do it. Now!"

They heard Filch's footsteps drawing closer. Closer. Wee Norris mewed, her shadow stretching down nearly the whole row.

"I'm coming, my pet," Filch said. "I hear you! Two students, I think. What do you say, Little Norris?"

"I don't know what to sing!" Freddie hissed. "All the words've gone out of my head!"

"Sing the fucking alphabet!" John replied. "Now! Before he sees us!"

So Freddie sang the alphabet.

Even in this altered state, even as a girl, John felt nothing from Freddie's voice. The others did, even if they still had immunity to falling under the siren spell. Perhaps there was something wrong with him, or some genetic disposition to immunity that no one could yet explain. It seemed strange that out of all the kids in the school, he alone felt no effects from Freddie's song.

When Freddie reached the end, they both listened.

Wee Norris continued to meow quite plaintively, though they could no longer hear Filch. John could, however, hear Freddie's shallow, panicked breaths coming in rapid succession. "Did it work?" he asked.

Freddie nodded. "It must've. Tell me what to tell him, so it sticks."

Ugh. Freddie really ought to know how to use his own power! Still, John supposed he should take it as a compliment that Freddie relied on him so.

While the siren song seemed much stronger coming from a female siren, the same rules likely applied. Filch wouldn't be able to do anything against his nature, which meant telling him to be kinder probably wouldn't work. Nor could they tell him to forget it ever happened, as there were loopholes around that, as they learned with the Slytherins. "Tell him," John whispered. "Tell him he's dreaming of hunting students."

Freddie nodded. "You're dreaming," Freddie called around the shelves. "About a hunt for horrible students. A Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff!"

"No ad-libbing," John muttered. "Okay, tell him... He's chased them to the library, and he's following them through the shelves."

Freddie relayed the message.

"Tell him he's come upon a music box on the floor, singing a sad song. He opens it, and the students are inside. He closes it and takes it back to his quarters, satisfied."

"That's a little macabre, don't you think?" Freddie asked.

"Do it," John said. "It's what he wants."

With a look of utter revulsion, Freddie repeated the scenario.

And, even to John's surprise, he heard Filch say, "I've gotten what I've come for, Wee Norris! Away we go!" His voice seemed far away and wistful. Dreamlike and distant, almost tired.

Confused, Norris tilted her head, looking straight at Freddie and John. Still, she couldn't disobey, it seemed, and followed after Filch as he trudged back out through the rows of books, his footfalls echoing from the domed ceiling.

Finally, the door slammed shut.

All John wanted to do was collapse and cry into his hands. His knees felt weak; in the aftermath of nearly being caught by Filch, he felt like he could sleep for a year.

"Brilliant, John" Freddie said, stepping out from behind the cart. He took another look at the place where the book should have been, and said, "Let's get out of here."

A better plan had never been spoken.


	10. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If John would pay attention once in a while, he'd see he wasn't always so alone.

John had been staring at the same page for at least a quarter of an hour. He wasn't even reading it over and over, nor trying to parse the words. He didn't have the energy for putting forth an effort, so he pretended as best he could.

One of the people in the corner illustration mocked him by crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. 

Prat, John thought. But he couldn't even scowl.

Over the past couple days, he tried his damndest to stay awake as much as possible. Neither falling asleep nor dreaming were the problems, but waking up in the wrong body... It _did something_ to him. It manifested a sort of sick nausea in the pit of his stomach that curled its tendrils around his sense of well-being. It un-grounded him. It made him feel that he was _not enough_ and _too much_ at the same time, though not necessarily in that order, and not necessarily with any logic.   
  
As long as he remained awake, he could fight off the unease.

"John?" Odin asked.

He looked up over the top of his book. Odin sat at the other end of the couch, his charms text open in his lap. John muttered, "Mm?"

"It's just that... You haven't turned the page in forever, and you look like you were hit by a truck or something."

John tried to recall what a truck was. Was that the muggle monstrosity with the wings? No. No, it was the one with the bed in the back, for... Hauling chickens, he supposed. Chickens were the only thing his brain could think of on such short notice, apparently. "I don't think trucks work at Hogwarts," he said.

"Well, not _literally,_ " Odin said, scooting down the couch. He tossed his charms book back on the vacated cushion, and worked John's book out of his hand. "Are you still trying to figure out... Y'know."

John nodded. He was too tired to liberate the book from Odin, but he still said, "That reading's way above your level."

His voice. He _hated_ his voice. It was so--so-- _something!_ He shivered.   
  
"It's above yours, too. This is a sixth-year potions book." Odin flipped a couple pages. "You haven't even taken your OWLs yet!"

"He's an over-achiever," one of the Slytherin girls said, leaning on the back of the couch.

John wished she'd go away, so he could enjoy the openness of the Slytherin common room without his housemates yammering on. He wanted to drown in the scent of old leather, and enjoy the knowledge that the lake pressed down on them from above, keeping them safe and secure, shut out from the rest of the world. He wanted to let the soft, green light lull him into a sense of security as...

He...

Dozed...

He shook himself awake, glaring at the girl with resentment. Though he felt a stab of guilt that he didn't even know her name, he still wished she'd disappear. "How would you know?" John grumbled.

He thought she might have been a third-year, like him. She was in some of his classes.

"Because you've always got your nose in a book," she said, though it wasn't unkind. He found that odd. "Look, we've been trying to get your attention for the last week, and you haven't even noticed, have you?"

John had to admit, he hadn't. Leaning back on the arm of the couch, he rubbed his face. His tired brain warred with his only two options: apologize, or growl a bit more. He went with the latter. "Can't you just leave me alone?"

"I thought you should have been able to stay with us in the dorms," the girl said. "I wouldn't have minded.

"You weren't allowed to?" Odin asked, scandalized.

"No," John muttered. He took the book back, ripping it out of Odin's hands and slamming it open to a random page.

Persistent, the girl leaned over the back of the couch, her silver hair tickling his cheek, and said, "I'm Ivory."

"I know!" John snapped, scowling.

"Really! Because you called me 'get out of my way,' just yesterday!" Ivory said, beaming. "C'mon, John. Did you really know?"

He let his silence speak for him.

"I thought so," Ivory said. She came around the couch and sat on the other side of Odin. "Look, it's terrible what happened to you and your friends, isn't it?"

More than anything, he wanted someone to empathize with him. Someone other than Brian, Roger, and Freddie, who were in the same boat he was. He wanted someone else to see he was hurting, and the realization that someone _did_ almost made him cry. Almost. He tried to hide his tears with a deeper scowl, but his lip quivered, betraying him. "Why are you being nice to me?" he demanded.

Odin and Ivory looked at each other. "Lots of reasons," Odin eventually said. "Uh... You're a Slytherin, for one. Y'know, you're in our house--"

"You're hardly a Slytherin," John snapped, his eyes narrowing. He regretted his outburst almost immediately, but he couldn't hold back now. "Giving people our password!"

"I did it to help!" Odin said. "And I _am_ a Slytherin, you old grouch! I'm gonna found another wizarding village someday, you know. And be mayor of it! I don't have to be a jerk like _you_ to be a Slytherin!"

John was speechless. He never dreamed Odin would yell at him. All he could say was, "I'm sorry."

He couldn't look at them anymore. Thankfully, he had a book to distract him, open to a page about curative potions and the art of bone-mending. The letters wouldn't resolve themselves into words for his weary eyes, though, so he couldn't actually read any of them.

"We have friends in other houses, too," Ivory said. "You're not the only one who's been hexed for talking to Gryffindors. And... Er... We know what you did last year, to some of the other Slytherins. You know. After Christmas..."

John felt the color drain from his face. He tried to hide his panic and failed. They _couldn't_ have known how he got the house elves to add a simple potion to the food meant for the Slytherin table, and yet! "I don't know what you're talking about," he managed, voice quivering.

Ivory rolled her eyes. Odin giggled. Ivory smiled and elbowed him. "John, it's okay. There's only a few of us who know. You're like a legend. And since then, we haven't had near the problems we had before."

"I was so careful..." John muttered. "How'd you--"

"You're not the only one who can bribe house elves," Odin said. "They're really neat, you know? If you talk with 'em a bit, you can get 'em to tell you anything."

"Well, Odin can," Ivory said. "He's got a way with them."

"I just wanted to know who poisoned my pudding and _why,"_ Odin said. John shrank back a little. Some of his innocent housemates clearly got caught up in his brilliant vengeance. Odin patted his shoulder, though. "Aw, it's all right. They told me why you did it. And I thought it was worth it."

John found that he still couldn't make himself trust these two. Maybe they had some ulterior motive--like maybe _they_ turned him and his friends into girls. And now here they were, sitting a foot away and having a good laugh at his expense. As soon as he had the thought, it drilled at his consciousness, demanding his attention while some tiny, insignificant voice begged him to make friends in his own house _for once in his life._  

"Do you still think you'll be a girl for the Quidditch ball?" Odin asked.

The innocent voice ripped John out of his dark thoughts. He blinked. "Uh. Well, I hope not. The spell becomes permanent at the next new moon."

Which would rise in a painfully short span of days--less than two weeks now. Their time to solve this terrible puzzle dwindled without providing them with any answers.   
  
If he was still a girl by the Quincentennial... He'd be trapped.

Trapped. That was such a perfect word.

"Oh," Odin said. The look of sympathy on his face was too genuine to be fake. "Well, maybe we can help. That's why we're--"

A clamor echoed from the common room's dark portal. A couple first years stumbled out, followed by... Well, in John's tired state, he almost thought he'd fallen asleep and suffered a nightmare.

Mike grimaced, searching the common room. One of the boys with him--the one who'd been the lookout when John was attacked, scurried away. The other two stood their ground, nodding when Mike leveled an accusatory finger right at John.

His heart skipped a little and became fully lodged in his throat, cutting off his air. To their credit, though, Ivory and Odin didn't run, though Odin tried to scoot under his arm.

"Hey, Deacon," Mike said, his tone almost conversational. "Just had a talk with the Headmistress. Interesting one, in fact. It's all come back to me now, hasn't it?" He turned to look over his shoulder. One of the boys scowled, while the other nodded. "Siccing your half-breed friend on your follow Slytherins? Not very becoming of someone in this house."

Even though his knees felt weak, John stood, looking up at the seventh year. He couldn't find his words, nor any way to express himself at all, but he wasn't going to run. He wasn't going to let them know he was scared.

"You cost us twenty points _each_ from Slytherin, Deacon!" One of the other boys said.

"Shut up, Alcor," Mike said.   
  
"Seems like you did that yourselves," Ivory said, standing up next to John. She crossed her arms.

He was grateful for her support, and rather surprised as well. Even though she had no idea what happened, she was taking his side. He supposed she probably should have asked questions; it seemed a little stupid to jump to someone's defense without knowing what they did, or the reasons for it. But John still couldn't help the warm feeling in his chest at the realization that someone cared about him.

"Freddie's not a half-breed, neither," Odin said. "He's nice."

"Doesn't make him less than a freak," Mike said. "Or should I say, _her._ Look what you've done to yourselves."

The other two behind him giggled like hyenas. Ridiculous, ugly, mangy hyenas.

"You did it," John said, though he wished he hadn't, because the laughing stopped, and the scowls returned.

They didn't deny it, but they also didn't claim credit for it. Instead, Mike said, "Now that we're un-sirened, we can do whatever we want to you, can't we?"

John hated the thought that popped into his head with all his being, and yet, he knew it was exactly what he had to say. Roger would have been proud of him. Hell, he probably heard Roger say it at some point, and it stuck in his subconscious like a prickly burr on the bottom of his shoe. Motioning between himself and Ivory, he said, "You're going to pick on a couple of girls? That's not very honorable, is it? Not very Slytherin."

"Look here, you little--" Mike began.

"Silencio!" Odin shouted.

The spell slammed into Mike so hard that he stumbled to the side, caught by the other boy called Alcor. Mike opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out; his face turned red with anger, though Ivory already had her wand out, and now their little trio had drawn the attention of the rest of the house, as well.

It almost seemed superfluous for John to retrieve his wand from his pocket, but he did it anyway, glancing at it with a lazy smile as he leveled it on an adversary he neither wanted, nor could adequately deal with.   
  
"Hex him!" Someone called from the gathered onlookers.

But Mike was already stomping away, glaring over his shoulder as the other two followed.

With the fight gone from him, John collapsed back onto the couch, nearly sitting on Odin, who still occupied his cushion. Ivory squeezed in on the other side, leaning on John's shoulder. "I think we were pretty brave," she said.

And John allowed his eyes to drift shut, falling asleep between the first two people in his house that he might actually be able to bring himself to trust.

Maybe.


	11. A Popular Song by Irma Thomas and Covered by the Rolling Stones Referring to Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids buy themselves some time. Not a lot, comparatively, but something is better than nothing when the clock is running out.

"You look different today, John" Roger said, leaning across the table. He propped his head up on his hands and batted his eyes.

John grumbled something about having his hair in a ponytail because one of the Slytherins wanted to play with his hair.  
  
"No, it's not the ponytail," Roger said. He glanced at Freddie, arching his eyebrows. Of course he already knew where he was going with this, but John was just so easy to rile. "Whaddayouthink?"

"There _is_ something different," Freddie said.

"Her name's Ivory," John said. "She--"

"He's _awake!"_ Roger exclaimed.   
  
"That's it!" Freddie agreed. "He doesn't have the bags under his eyes!"

"And they're not bloodshot," Roger added.

Freddie concurred. "Oh, yes. Not bloodshot. Very nice."

"So _who's this Ivory?"_ Roger asked, leaping over the table to sit next to John instead. Freddie, in turn, scooted closer to Brian, who paged through several books laid out in front of him.

"She's one of my housemates," John said, quite blandly and not at all enamored of her, as Roger hoped. John didn't show much attention toward girls at all. Or, now that Roger really thought about it, boys, either.

"Is she pretty?"

When John had to roll his eyes back to think about it, Roger sighed. "You'd know if she was pretty already."

"I _guess_ she is?" John wondered. "I never really thought about it much. She's a girl, you know. They're all kind of pretty, I suppose."

Roger had to scratch his head at that one, and also stop himself from mentioning that _some_ girls were prettier than most--John, for example. But surely calling John a girl was akin to buying a one-way ticket to Curseville, population one. "Is there anyone you like?" he asked.

"I like you guys," John said, quite innocently.

Freddie tittered.

"Have you stopped to consider that he's concentrating on his schoolwork, and not on _girls_ like you two?" Brian asked.

"Oh, I'm _definitely_ not concentrating on girls," Freddie said, his voice mischievous. It was Roger's turn to giggle. Brian seemed not to notice.

"Oh! Is that what you're talking about?" John asked, his cheeks flaring pink. "N-no, there's no one."

"Trust us, John," Freddie said. "We figured that out."

John rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers fretting with the ponytail. He appeared quite lost in the endeavor of Finding Something Else to Talk About, as his eyes darted from one thing to the other on the table. Eventually, he pointed at Brian's small library of various astronomy books. "Hey! Those aren't helpful!"

Brian looked up, blinking. "Sometimes I do have homework," he said.

Roger grabbed the nearest book, whisking it out of Brian's reach as the Ravenclaw made a half-hearted swipe at it. Holding it sideways, he asked, "Who even is Galileo?"

"An astronomer, among other things!" Brian grabbed his wand off the table and _accio'd_ the book back into his hand. "Which you'd bloody know, if you want to class!"

"Well, I'm there. Technically," Roger said. "It was snowing last night, so I stayed in."

"Snowing in October," Freddie sighed. "What _is_ this world coming to? And speaking of snow in October, you know... That book was missing from the library."

"What book--how is that even remotely related to snow?" Brian asked.

"It's not, but I wanted to bring it up," Freddie said, examining his nails. "And I needed a segue. Whether or not it made sense isn't my problem."

It _was_ Freddie's problem, of course, but Roger always liked a good non-sensical segue, whatever a segue was. "I suppose if you shred the pages of a book, then throw the bits in the air, it'd look a little like snow," he said.

"See? There we go." Proud, Freddie gestured at Roger.

"Well, we're not shredding any books," Brian said. "Especially not mine."

"What he's getting at," John said, "is that Freddie and I tried to... Ah. _Acquire_ that book you have. The one with the missing pages? We looked for it in the library. It wasn't there."

Brian narrowed his eyes. Clearly he'd already figured out that they hadn't entered the restricted section of the library with permission, because he had that look about him that oozed accusation and blame. Still, he asked, "I wasn't aware you'd gained permission to access those books."

"We _didn't,"_ Freddie all but squealed. "We snuck in. At _midnight!"_

"John!" Brian demanded.

But John could only shrug. "The pages are missing, Brian. I think there's really something there that might help. And you've already checked a book out, haven't you?"

"Lunch in a sec," Roger said, looking at Brian's watch. The others cleared their things off the table just as a small feast appeared around them. Sandwiches on breadrolls, and strawberries--fresh, despite the cold. A peach-colored pudding, too, and a carafe of punch, with slices of orange and lemon floating inside.

Roger piled his plate with sandwiches.

"Well, I've looked through a few," Brian said. "But I did notice that _Past Your Lessons_ was missing. I didn't think it was too important...?"

How Brian could only load one sandwich onto his plate was a question far beyond Roger's ability to answer. For good measure, he grabbed a couple more turkey-cucumbers, even though he couldn't eat them all. Then he snuck Brian's sandwich off his plate, too.

"Of course it's important!" Freddie said. "The student that cursed us must have checked it out!"

"Or a professor grabbed it," Brian said. "They're helping us, too--where's my bloody sandwich? Didn't I take one?"

John gestured to Roger, who grunted "Snitch!" Around a mouthful of every sandwich on his plate.

Brian rolled his eyes.

"Oh, yeah, I didn't think about the teachers." Freddie scratched his chin. "Is there any way we can see who checked it out? Just to make sure..."

Brian nodded. "Sure. I'll go see, after lunch."

"Good. That settles that, then."

For a while, they just ate, which was a favorite past-time for all of them. Roger excelled at it, of course, due to his Quidditch metabolism. Despite sitting on a broom for whole stretches of time, playing took a lot out of a person! Even though he considered himself a pretty ace chaser, though, he still had weak little arms, which he _hoped_ would stop looking so much like noodles as he got older.

If they ever cast someone to play him in a documentary of his life, he'd be sure to find someone with huge, beefy arms.

"Did you ever write your letters, Freddie?" John asked.

"Only one," Freddie said, tilting his chin up. "Now, don't get all mad. It was a good letter."

John and Brian glanced at each other, a worried exchange silently passing between them. "You know that means we've got to give the other two to Roger," John said.

"Let's not be hasty." Brian dug through his bag, retrieving a piece of parchment. "I'll take one, and you take one, John."

"Oh, c'mon." Roger reached for the scroll, which Brian dangled out of his reach. "It won't be like last time."

"John," Brian said.

"Yeah, yeah, that's probably a better idea. Tear that in half, would you?"

As Brian carefully split the parchment, an owl swooped down from above, dropping a scroll onto Freddie's plate, which had thankfully been vacated by Roger stealing _that_ sandwich, too. "Thank you, darling," Freddie said, offering the owl a bit of bread crust as it rested on his shoulder. "Look, I've gotten a reply. Took him long enough. I'd begun to worry he'd gone the same route your people had."

"You mean our dead ends," Brian said.

"Precisely. Let's see now..."

Freddie untied the ribbon on the scroll and unrolled it, as the owl finished his treat and took off, back through the high windows.

"It's quite a reply." Freddie unrolled at least a foot of parchment as Brian cleared a spot on the table so Freddie could set it among them.

_Dear Mr. Mercury:_

_I am quite the fact-finder, I'll admit. Of course, I'm a very busy man, but seeing as I was your greatest hope to repair this misfortune--and that I was, indeed, your only correspondent, I dropped what I was doing immediately in order to research your spell._

"The only correspondent! Really!" Brian snapped. "We've been--"

"Shh! I'm reading!" Roger said.

_Of course, I knew little about my ancestor, and knew less about what he'd done to himself! With a little research into the Humblegrunt-Humboldt archive, though, I've found something that might help. It isn't what you're looking for, unfortunately, but I think it will be of some assistance, regardless._

Freddie moved the letter aside to find the yellowed page from an old book folded into quarters underneath it.

"What's with people tearing pages out of books?" John asked.

"Reading!" Roger said again.

_You'll find the enclosed recipe will extend the effective time of the Role Reversal potion by one moon. That means that the spell will be sealed after November's new moon, rather than October's, if I properly understand your timetable. I found this among Georj's notes, and learned that he had, indeed, taken this to prolong his research time. Please note that this potion may only be consumed once--ever! To imbibe it again can cause wild magic effects that usually lead to the gristly death of the wizard in question. Of course you understand that, having already taken a potion containing living elements._

_Your faithful servant,_

_Corman Humboldt_

"What kind of potion can only be used once?" Roger asked. "This is like... Some stupid fiction device that's just used to cover up plotholes. It's silly."

"This isn't fiction," Brian said. "Besides, there's some basis in science for it, anyway. It's like if you give a muggle a blood transfusion with the wrong blood type--they'll probably be fine if you do it once, but if you do it again, you can trigger a cytokine storm. You could kill them."

John paled. "Muggles do _what?"_

They spent the rest of lunch explaining blood transfusions to John, who continued to turn whiter and whiter with each example of what muggles could do to themselves. Car crashes, extreme sports, and Roger also felt the need to bring up that one Muggle who'd impaled himself on someone's spikey fence that one time, just outside King's Cross.

"Right. What were we discussing again?" Freddie asked. "It was something important..."

Brian separated the potion recipe from the letter and unfolded it. His lip curled. "Well, it's not too complicated, but it requires supervision. John, I think you and I can manage it."

"Me?" John asked.

Brian nodded. "You've got top marks in potions."

John contemplated for a moment, then nodded. "We'll get an extra month?" he asked.

"Twenty-eight days. New moon to new moon," Brian said. "It's not what we hoped for, but... It gives us a few more weeks. Good job, Freddie. Now we don't have to let Roger write letters to people."

"For Merlin's sake!" Roger exclaimed. "It was just _one exploding howler!"_  
  


\---

  
In matters of schoolwork, John had unparalleled academic diligence. He could concentrate on any task, no matter how impossible or mundane, and see it to completion. He expected to achieve as many O's as humanly possible when he took his OWLs in his fifth year, and, in fact, was looking forward to them.

Of course, he couldn't excel at everything. In social situations, John's repertoire included either "freeze completely" or "curse first, sort it out later."  Or sometimes, if he was feeling particularly clever, he'd issue a freeze curse and achieve both options at the same time.

Here, alone in an unused classroom off a lonely third floor corridor, John Deacon shined.   
  
Actually, he thought to himself--Here, alone and _without Roger to pester him,_ he shined.

He had to, though. With their time running out, he and Brian would have no time left to brew the potion again. It was only a stopgap concoction in the effort to sort out their plight, but it was an important one. As Freddie and Roger endlessly trawled the library for a solution, John and Brian worked on giving them just a little bit more time.

Muttering to himself, John checked the re-written notes, each twice as large and thrice as legible as they were on the weathered old parchment. Every completed task had a line drawn through it to indicate the step wasn't to be repeated--or it would spoil the whole potion.

He did wonder how Brian became so adept at potionmaking. Then again, Brian was exactly the kind of student Slughorn liked--willing to learn, and quite proficient in kissing ass if necessary, just to bump his grade up a tiny sliver. He also held onto information like a sponge.

Which was precisely why John felt just a _little_ guilty as he checked over Brian's portions of the preparation. He'd expect Brian to do the same for him, after all--no sense in getting to the very end to discover you messed up somewhere in the vicinity of step two or three. To John's relief, everything was perfect and in order.

Incredible.

Not a hard potion by any means, though Brian _had_ crossed out one section entirely, re-written it to save a couple hours, and then crossed it out upon its completion. The Ravenclaw knew what he was doing, and the potion reflected the useful shortcut with a proper color and strawberry-mold scent.

Whether or not the scent was proper was irrelevant when it came to John curling his nose in disgust. It stunk.

He checked his watch, double-checked the time Brian indicated in his notes, and then upended a tiny vial of doxy claw clippings into the potion. It catalyzed, causing the red surface to bubble and spit.

He could have used a single augury feather, the properties of which had been described and defined since this potion was first written. Unlike Brian, though, John wasn't a risk-taker. He'd stick to the script as written, even if it meant not shaving half a day off the brew time.

And even if he knew it would work.   
  
But in the most infinitesimal scenarios he could conjure in his mind, John took his short cut and ruined their chances for reaching normalcy. Ruined it for all four of them. Forever.

No, John couldn't trust himself, but he could trust Brian.

Sitting on the floor, he waited for the potion to turn from red to purple. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he remembered his appearance in pained detail, and thanked himself for not cutting corners. He couldn't afford to wake up every day in the mildest stages of panic, or close to tears, or both.

The door to the classroom opened. "Hey, Bri," John said, without looking up.

It wouldn't have been Roger. After all, they'd charmed the door to make Roger remember something far more interesting if he tried to enter, which would cause him to wander away to do whatever it was Hufflepuffs did in their downtime. Best of all, the charm was Roger's idea.

He knew himself, at the very least.

They could at least take Freddie's word that he'd stay away from the potion while it was in progress.

"How's it going?" Brian asked.

"Red," John muttered. "And vile. My robe is going to smell like it when I go to class." Reaching over with a quill, he scratched out the two steps he achieved. He'd cross another off before he left, too.

"That's not an answer."

"Good enough of one," John replied. "Slow. And I'm impatient."

Brian sat down on the other side of the cauldron, muttering an incantation to check the temperature. It was the first thing John did on his arrival, but he'd accept the shadowing if it meant preventing an error.

The sludge turned royal purple. John took a quick whiff to make sure it still smelled like moldy strawberries, then stirred it counter-clockwise, as the instructions indicated.

"We're past the point of no return," Brian said. "It's gotta succeed. We can't start it over."

John nodded. Oddly, the pressure woke him up, making him more aware and alert of the importance of success. He appreciated the reminder, as conversational as it was. "We'll do it. We'll be fine."

He didn't like that Brian didn't respond to that, but he bit his lip to prevent himself from following up with "won't we?"

"I wish I could have done more..." Brian said instead. His eyes took on a glazed, distant look as they reflected the burbling surface of the potion. "I feel like I should have--" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Just because you're a Ravenclaw doesn't mean you get to have all the answers." John forced a smile he didn't really mean. "Another month, Brian. It's... Well, it's luck is what it is. Unless you believe in divine intervention."

"Mostly I just believe in Freddie's talent for getting people to do things they wouldn't otherwise bother themselves over." Brian crossed the stirring step off the notes on John's behalf.

"Yes, thank Merlin for Freddie." Curling his nose again, John took his wand out of the mixture and shook it a bit, a few droplets landing on the floor and on Brian's robe. Having made quite enough of a mess already, he cast a cleaning spell, careful to avoid the cauldron itself. "Do you ever wonder where vanished potions go when we disappear them?" John asked. "I hope they land on whoever thought it was funny to curse us like this."

Brian didn't reply. He was staring at the potion again.

"Brian?" John tried.

"Oh, I heard you, Deaky. I'm just thinking."

Sorting through his pack, John withdrew the next ingredient--and the last--to be added at a precise moment in the near future. He pushed the jar across the floor to Brian. "Pulverized newt intestine. I think I'll try not to think about what I'm drinking when I'm drinking it."

"Always a good plan," Brian said. "I'll make sure I get it in on time."   
  
John nodded, getting to his feet. After this step, the rest would be relatively easy. "I'll get to class, then."

"Right. John?"

John stopped, looking over his shoulder.

"Ah--nothing."

Brian usually didn't bottle up his concern. In fact, eleven times out of ten, he fretted endlessly about his newest problem, enough so that the whole school became aware of it. Taking the rare opportunity to offer just a little comfort, John said, "We'll get it all fixed, Brian!"

His voice rose in an uncharacteristically cheery lilt. Brian arched his eyebrows, hiding a smile.

"Well, at the very least, I'm _amusing,"_ John grumbled, and passed through the charmed door.


	12. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least the important things go according to plan, even if the fun things don't.

Slughorn held a ladle full of the potion up to his nose. "Smells right," he said. "The color's good. You remembered to add the _live_ grammostola egg case at the proper time?"

Brian nodded, staring intently at the suspended ladle.

"I'm glad you had that step," John said with a bit of a shiver.

Slughorn consulted the notes again, pulling his glasses down on his nose. "Well, there's very little left to question. A mistake with this particular potion would change the scent entirely. Clearly."

"Clearly," Roger muttered to Freddie. Freddie elbowed him.

Slughorn set the ladle back into the cauldron. "Is there any reason you did it in such an out-of-the-way location?" He glanced back toward the door, which hung open, leading out into the dusty third-floor hallway.

None of them could answer. Roger thought it was just to hide the potion from _him,_ since he only ever came up to the hidden room if he had to. It was so hard to get to! In fact, he almost wandered away when they brought Slughorn up, since Brian and John had neglected to remove the charm on the door to keep him out.

Actually, they hadn't. Roger just _really_ wanted to go to the Halloween feast, and all this standing around staring at a pot of glop was kind of making him angry.

"Just to make sure no one tampered with it, Professor," Brian finally said. "It was very important that we got it right."

"Mm-hm. I see, I see," Slughorn said, wandering toward the door. "Well, boys, I'll be heading down to the Great Hall. Might take me a few hours to find it from all the way up here, but I'm sure I'll--"

The rest of his words faded as he made his way down the corridor.   
  
"Well," Brian said. "Shall we?"

Roger really didn't like the way the potion bubbled and plipped about in the cauldron even with the heat extinguished, and had a rather negative opinion about the disgusting stench. But Brian was already wordlessly ladling the shimmery purple slime into four cups, so it seemed a bit too late to say anything at this point.

Each cup had a carefully calculated, distinct measurement drawn on the inside based on their weights and ages. Their names were written on the outside in messy script; with dismay, Roger realized he ended up with the most.

"I'll trade you," Roger said to John, who had the least.

John didn't even dignify him with an answer.

Freddie held his cup under his nose, uttering a pained syllable of disgust. "Well, darlings, this is _without a doubt_ one of the most disgusting things I've ever had to do."

"I've seen you eat raw fish," Brian said.

Freddie blinked. "And?"

Brian rolled his eyes, checked to make sure he had the right cup, and pinched his nose. After another good few seconds of deliberation, he drank it, his face tensing with the effort of keeping it down.

As soon as he finished it, he threw the cup and swore quite profusely, adding a "Blech!" onto the end of his tirade, possibly for emphasis.

"How d'you feel?" John asked.

"Cold," Brian said. "Cold and a little dizzy--but that's okay. That's what--" He belched. "That's what's supposed to happen. S'how you know it's working." He shivered, his lip curling. "And don't forget, you've got to drink it all."

"All of it," Freddie repeated. It was less of a question, and more of a personal eulogy. "All right, then."

Roger looked at the others, then down into his cup. Emulating Brian, he pinched his nose, raised it to his lips, and drank it as quickly as he could.

It was what he imagined drinking liquified garbage would be like. Garbage with cat litter leavings, and old meat left out in the sun, with just a hint of rancid coffee grounds and moldy chicken bones. The temptation to spit it out was strong, but he also didn't want to be a girl for the rest of his life. And so he resisted bravely, in the way a mouse might stand his ground against a particularly terrifying lump of cheese.

As soon as he felt the last drop hit his tongue, he dropped his cup and clapped a hand over his mouth. A coldness spread through him, and the room started to spin, though the effect diminished with each passing second until he just felt a rather uncomfortable chill.

"Yep, I was right," Freddie said, his voice strained. "Most disgusting thing I've ever done!"

John doubled over, his arms crossed over his stomach. He wobbled a bit, lost his balance, and collapsed onto his side, though his expression remained quite hilariously neutral. "Why are potions always so _disgusting?_ " he asked.

"Because the people who invent them are more masochistic than you are, dear," Freddie said, his voice patient. He gave another shiver, almost formal in its execution, and set his cup down next to the cauldron. "And now for my grand idea."

"As long as it's not an idea like _Roger_ has ideas," John grumbled. "Because I'm not sure I can take it."

All Roger could do was shrug. His ideas tended to fall well into the realm of strange.

"No," Freddie said. "Have a little faith! Listen. Now that we've got an extra month, we have plenty of time to make the Role Reversal potion again, haven't we?"   
  
John sat up, his eyes widening in heartbreaking hope. "You're right. Freddie, you're _right._ Why didn't I think of that?"

Freddie offered a detached, though appreciative smile as he grabbed the cold cauldron off the coals. Pointing his wand into it, he cast a quick " _Evanesco,"_ cleaning it of the remaining potion and leaving it relatively spotless. With a flourish, he held it out to Brian.

"We can't," Brian said.

"Well, of course we can," Freddie said. "If it works one way, it'll work the other way, won't it?"

"No, I mean, we can't. It's--"

"You and John can do it," Freddie insisted. "You made this one, didn't you? And Slughorn didn't have a bad thing to say about it. So don't tell me you don't have the skill. Come now, Brian. I believe in you."

"And if we start now, we'll have just enough time," John said. Taking the cauldron from Freddie, he set it back into the coals. "Brian, where's your book?"

"But--" Brian tried.

"Do you think Slughorn'll let us in his stores?" Roger asked.

"Stop!" Brian shouted. "Look, it's a living potion, isn't it? If we've already taken it, then we can't take it again. It could kill us!"

John's face fell. Roger felt horrible that his heart seemed to break into a million pieces when he gazed upon that withered expression. To be so close to a solution, only to be told that it wouldn't work...

"We don't know that," Freddie said. "It's all right John. We don't know if it will or not. The warnings page was missing, remember?"

"But it's a fair bet..." Brian started. His shoulders slumped in defeat, though, as he turned his attention to the empty cauldron. "Roger, can you go fill this with water?"

Barely able to contain his own elation, Roger grabbed the cauldron and hugged it to his chest, heedless of the coal dust that flaked onto his robe. "Look, we can always keep looking for the page," he said. "We'll start the potion now, and look for another copy of the book in the meantime, right? One's gotta exist somewhere out there. And if it turns out we can't take it, we'll dump it."

Brian bobbed his head up and down in a stiff nod.

"No. I'm taking it anyway," John said, looking down at himself. "I can't live like this. I can't. We'll just... be careful or... Or I'll make sure I take it in the infirmary, or... I don't know. We'll figure it out."

"John--" Brian said.

"Don't argue with me, Bri," John snapped.

For an almost imperceptible second, Brian couldn't hide his horror. Neither, Roger assumed, could he. The idea that John would risk some kind of gruesome end just because of an admittedly mild transformation... Roger couldn't wrap his mind around it.

Then again, John's change wasn't exactly mild.

Brian sighed. "Don't think I won't spend the whole time trying to convince you otherwise. Anyway, some of the ingredients are difficult to get, so I'm not even sure I can do it."

"Try," John said. "I'll help. I can help."

"Then can we go to the Halloween party?" Roger asked. "If I miss it, I might just actually die."

"Stop being so dramatic," Freddie said, without, it seemed, even a hint of self-reflection.  
  


\---

  
Back when Freddie started at Hogwarts, he found the Halloween decorations just a little garish.

Nowadays, he rather liked them.

He couldn't say when his tastes changed. Perhaps he just got used to the giant jack-o-lanterns and the bats swooping about overhead, and the fairy lights glowing on the walls in various shades of orange and purple. It meant cold pumpkin juice, and candies and biscuits and pastries of all kinds. It meant some of the kids would wear their finest robes, while others would wear muggle headbands with bunny ears or alien eyes bobbing around on taut springs.

It was all a lot of fun.

"I don't feel sick anymore," Roger said. "Why shouldn't I have as many chocolates as I want?"

The rest of them had also squished in next to Roger, and in true Hufflepuff fashion, his housemates made room for them, happily. Even for John, though one or two of the yellow-robed students gave him a cursory scowl.

"Because if you have too many, it'll _make you_ sick," Brian said. "Vomit-sick."

Ignoring the warning, Roger rescued a slice of chocolate pie from a pumpkin-shaped plate in the middle of the table.

It actually looked good, and Freddie figured he ought to take a piece before Roger ate the whole pie.

"I can't believe a potion can take a whole month to make," John muttered. After Freddie took his piece, John helped himself, too, stabbing his fork into a slice and sliding it onto his plate. "I mean, I guess I can, but... Well, I know I grew up in a magical household, but sometimes magic seems _absolutely ridiculous."_

"It's like I always say," Roger said, around a mouthful of chocolate. "The author writing the story of our life is out to get us."

"We're not being written," Brian said, taking the last quarter of pie. "But I know what you mean. There's a few potions that take a long time to make--mostly the transformative ones, now that I think of it. This Role Reversal one, and Polyjuice. Felix Felicis takes a _few_ months! I guess that could be considered transformative." He pressed his lips together as he thought. "It does cause you to tumble into your own luck."

"It's too bad we don't have time to make _that_ one," Freddie said. "It'd help us find a way to fix our curse, wouldn't it?"

"Probably," John said, wistful. He nudged the chocolate off his pie and picked up the crust. Roger grabbed his plate and dumped the pile of pudding onto his own.

"Classy," Freddie said.

"Look, if you guys aren't going to celebrate Halloween..." Roger paused as one of the castle's ghosts meandered through their table, "I'm going to have to do it for you."

Flakes of crust flittered off John's pie crust as he bit into it. "Roger can have it," he said. "There's too much pudding. It's all mushy."

There was a dejected sort of timbre to his voice, which was the exact antithesis of celebration. Even Roger, as oblivious as he was, seemed to notice it. He halted--momentarily, anyway--his endeavor to devour everything on the table and asked, "Are you still thinking about that potion?"

"I can't help it!" John admitted. He rested his head in his hand, poking his fork at the droplets of pudding still on his plate. "I'm relieved we got more time. I really am. But there's so much left to chance, I almost want to be up in that room, watching over the cauldron."

"No," Roger said. "You're going to sit down here and enjoy Halloween." He reached into a basket, grabbed a fistful of candies, and piled them in front of John. "Enjoy it 'til you're sick. It's the only way to have a Halloween party."

Though John rolled his eyes in his ever-tolerant-of-Roger's-antics way, he still wore a tired, fearful sort of grimace. At least, his smile didn't reach his eyes, which Freddie often took to mean something was very wrong.

But of course there was. Freddie felt it, too, and he imagined Roger and Brian felt the same. John just tended to wear his emotions more out in the open than the others, especially when it came to disappointment and anger.

"What if we're girls forever?" John asked. "What if we can't fix it?"

"Is it so bad?" Brian asked, though the question was gentle.

"Maybe it wouldn't be if I wasn't... If I wasn't so..."

"Pretty," Roger finished. Freddie elbowed him, causing his pie to fly off his fork.

"Yeah," John replied. "I look at you guys and I see _you._ I look at me and I see someone else. I really need this potion to work. I really need it to work."

Brian opened his mouth, probably to remind John that the warnings page likely indicated that they _couldn't_ take the Role Reversal potion again at the risk of certain peril. Freddie drew his fork across his throat and glared at him.

Then he used his fork for what it was meant for: breaking off and devouring tiny bits of delicious pie.

After a moment, Brian turned his attention to his plate as well, and they all sat in silence.

Then Roger said, "Guys, I don't feel well."

"I did tell you--" Brian started. His eyes narrowed, though, his words evaporating into the noisy din of conversation around them. A loud gurgle sounded from his stomach.

Freddie felt it just a second later--a painful wriggling somewhere around his middle, like something was trying to claw its way out of him.

They _all_ hadn't eaten as much as Roger, which meant the impending sickness sent up little red flags in Freddie's mind--the square ones that were often posted at the seaside, warning of hurricanes and squalls. The ones idiots on jet-skis often ignored because, hey, waves are fun if they can potentially drown you.

Freddie tried to remember the distance to the nearest loo, wondering if he'd make it in time.  
  
In the same instant, all four of them leapt to their feet, dashing from the Great Hall, nearly stumbling over each other in their race to reach the bathroom. It was all Freddie could do to keep the contents of his stomach down as he tore through the corridor just a step behind John. When he finally shouldered through the lavatory door and stumbled into a stall, he--

Well, he tried not to think too much about the part that followed.

He heard the others retching, as well.

Even after he was done, even after he could breathe again, the pain was still there. It scratched at his insides like the sharp spines on the back of a lionfish.

He didn't look. He couldn't look. Squishing his eyes tightly shut, he tried not to think about what just happened, nor the feast in the Great Hall. The very thought of food made the acid rise in his throat again; gritting his teeth, Freddie forced his mind to blankness.

In the next stall over, John threw up again.

"Is it the potion?" Roger managed.

"Nausea isn't a side eff--" Brian started, before emptying his stomach.

Freddie hugged the toilet, leaning over it as he forced himself to ask, "is it still gonna work, what with us expelling it and all?"

"Yes," Brian said. "Yes, the magic is immediate."

With that comforting answer, Freddie allowed himself to throw up for a second time. He'd never be able to eat chocolate again, which was a damn shame, because he really quite enjoyed it.

With the acrid sting in his nostrils and the roiling storm in his stomach, he was so ill that he didn't even have the energy to care that the bathroom door swung open, admitting a series of rather frantic footsteps.

"C'mon, Odin," A female voice said. "This one's open over here--"

"Thizzthemenzruhm," Roger slurred, as the sound of someone else being sick reached their ears.

"Odin?" John said. Then, "Ivory?"

Freddie felt it would be unwise to leave his post, since the nausea hadn't left him. Still, he wanted to make sure Odin was okay. He sat on the floor, ignoring the years of grime and dirt in favor of a slight measure of comfort. "Y'allright, Kid?" he asked, leaning his head back on the partition.

"Not really." The young Slytherin sounded like he was about to cry.

"It was the pie," the girl--Ivory, Freddie supposed--said. "I could smell it. Did you eat it, too?"

At the very mention of the pie, Freddie heaved again. So did Roger and John.

Brian managed to squeak a weak, "yes."

"Smell it?" John asked. He must have been braver than Freddie, which struck Freddie as ironic, considering their houses. In any case, he heard John's footsteps receding down the length of the loo toward the last stall. "You could smell... what, exactly?"

Finally satisfied that he was finished, Freddie dragged himself back to his feet and over to the row of sinks on the wall. Flipping on one of the faucets, he stuck his mouth under it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pale-haired Slytherin girl.

"You haven't noticed?" Ivory asked.

Freddie spat, wiping the back of his hand on his sleeve. When he stood, he did, admittedly, experience the tiniest moment of shock when he saw himself in the mirror.

"Notice?" John asked.

Ivory arched her eyebrows and gestured at her face.

Even though she had the characteristic facial structure of someone of African descent, she was as pale as a ghost. Her eyes were platinum, her skin alabaster, and her hair a delicate silver. Freddie had seen her around before, and remembered her due to her rather unique appearance.

He knew little about albinism, but her paleness seemed a little extreme, even for that.

"I just thought maybe you were--" John looked over at Freddie. "Half veela or something. Maybe--maybe--Brian, can you be half-ghost?"

"No, John," Brian said from his stall.

Ivory played with the end of one of her braids, and Odin said, "You don't gotta tell 'em, Ivy."

"It's all right," Ivory said. "There's--"

The lavatory door smashed open again, colliding with the wall behind it. A few bits of tile tinkled to the floor as two burly Slytherins stuffed their way into the bathroom. Freddie would have found them quite dashing if they weren't such terrible excuses for human beings.

"We had to come see for ourselves," the one called Mike said. He pointed to John. "This is what happens when you use your magic on me."

Roger peeked out from his stall. He looked green.

"Why aren't you sick?" the other Slytherin said, pointing at Ivory. She glared at him.

"It's all right, Alcor," Mike said. "Five out of six isn't bad."

"You did this?" John asked. He seemed to be fumbling about his robe for a pocket, but couldn't seem to locate it. That was probably for the best, because if he was looking for his pocket, it meant he was looking for his wand.

"We got the idea from _you,_ Deacon. Poisoning our food last year."

John looked at Ivory, who said, "I didn't tell them!"

"No one needed to tell us," Mike said.

Impossibly, John's face turned red, despite the pale greenish hue he wore from being sick. "You shouldn't have attacked me," he muttered, almost too quietly to hear. "It's--It's--"

"It's what you get," Freddie supplied.

" _You_ shut up, half-breed," Alcor said.

"We can fight this out, if you'd like," Freddie said, crossing his arms. He'd heard worse than 'half-breed' in his time, and was, in fact, quite numb to insults about his heritage. "It seems to me that there's six of us, and only two of you. I'm sure we can think of some creative curses--John is quite good at them--before you can even collectively come up with half a charm."

Brian appeared from his stall. So did Roger. Odin stepped out of his with his wand already drawn.

"We shoulda brought Edwin and Slade," Alcor said.

Mike took a step back and pointed at John again. "We're not done with you," he said, before shoving Alcor out through the open door.

As soon as the door closed, John deflated, sliding down the wall into a lump of robes on the floor.

"Looks like you've made some friends," Freddie said, crouching down next to him. "I am sorry, for what it's worth. It's my fault. Unfortunately, these lugs are far too idiotic to be angry at the right person."

"You spoiled their fun," John said, with a terribly sad smile. "They weren't done with me yet. Maybe you shoulda let 'em--"

"No," Freddie insisted. "Never."

"They shouldn't be angry at anyone." Brian crossed his arms, leaning on the wall next to Ivory, who tried to discreetly cover her nose. Brian didn't appear to notice her discomfort and added, "They started it."

"Started?" Odin asked.

"We thought you did, with the laxative in their food," Ivory said.

John shook his head. "They caught me in the dungeon last year..." He did his best to explain the attack and Freddie's timely rescue. Then he added, "It must have been them. They must have given us the Role Reversal potion."

"Are you kidding?" Freddie asked. "I've seen the recipe. Those two couldn't manage to boil water, let alone create a potion that takes a month to brew."

" _You_ can't boil water, Freddie!" Roger said.

"Beside the point." Freddie stuck up his nose. "They couldn't make a complicated potion to save their lives."

"She's right," Ivory said. "They aren't the smartest."

"He, darling, if you please," Freddie corrected. "Although I can see why you'd make the mistake." Despite himself, he tossed his hair, allowing the overhead torchlight to shimmer from his scales.

He was very pretty.

Ivory muttered an apology.  
  
Roger held up a finger, excused himself back into his stall, and threw up again.

"I really hope this isn't an indication about how the rest of this month will go," Brian said. "If it is, I think we're in a bit of trouble."  
  


\---

  
Ivory had her book open in her lap. Flipping through it, she showed John all the photos she'd taken before coming to Hogwarts. There were laughing kids and scenic overlooks and candid shots of her elementary school friends...

And, to be honest, he was dozing. He watched a little chickadee hopping from one branch to another, the rhythmic feather-flipping lulling him closer to sleep.

She did have a knack for photography, though.

"Are you awake?" she asked.

John looked down at the anger management book in his lap. After what happened earlier, he figured he ought to start reading it, though he'd never tell Roger. "I am," he said. "But Odin passed out half an hour ago." Odin leaned on his shoulder, snoring softly. His face was still pallid, his eyes sunken.

Poor kid. All because he stood up for John.

Ivory set the book aside, turning to stare at him. And he maintained eye contact for as long as he could before looking away.

"You are very pretty," she said. "Almost too pretty. Do you really think Mike and them did this?"

John really didn't know. On one hand, Freddie was right--they weren't the brightest, at least not when it came to potion making. They were great at painful hexes, though. He said, "I want to believe they did, I guess. I don't know anyone else in the school who'd..."

"I know you don't want this," Ivory said. "But if... Well, just _if._ I can help you."

John found that his smile was actually genuine. He appreciated the sentiment. "If," he repeated.

He stood, wishing he hadn't. Although the nausea passed some time ago, his body felt heavy, like he was filled head to toe with lead. All he could think about was lying down again. But he had to get back to his room before curfew, or he'd be sleeping on the couch again, in robes that smelled like strawberries, mold, and vomit. "I'd better go," he said.

"Wait. I wanted to tell you..." Ivory started.

He turned. "You don't have to," he said, although he was curious. Before he could stop himself, he added, "I mean... Unless you want to."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not a huge secret. It's just a little weird. I can smell magic."

John narrowed his eyes.

"I can! That's how I knew there was something in the pie. Really. You don't believe me."

Odin muttered, "She can," before falling back asleep.

And John had to admit, she did know what happened before their dullard housemates appeared and confessed to everything. "Maybe _you_ put something in the pie," he said, because _of course_ he did. He often didn't think before saying angry things.

Ivory arched her eyebrows.

"Yeah, I didn't really think so," John muttered. He slipped the anger management book into his pocket, hoping there was a chapter in there about thinking before speaking.

"Anyway, I wanted to tell you. Different kinds of magics have different kinds of scents. I can't really describe them, though, because there's no comparison. It's just--well, the point is, you and the Hufflepuff and the Gryffindor all smell like a curse. It's... All around you. Strongest with you, but pretty powerful with the others, too."

John tilted his head. He couldn't help a half-smile. "You're smelling... people? Me and Roger and Freddie? I thought I'd stink right about now..." He looked down at his robes. Thankfully, they _looked_ clean.

She ran her fingers through her hair, upsetting her tightly-woven braids. "I know it's weird. I know. But I wanted to tell you, I got nothing from the Ravenclaw."

Nothing? "From Brian? Are you sure it wasn't just because of all the... You know. All the sick?"

"Maybe," Ivory said, rubbing the back of her neck. "I thought it was weird. Or maybe there's people that can hide it from me, I just don't know. That must be it. Some sort of natural immunity. I've considered it before."

That seemed more likely, if John was being honest. After all, Brian was just as cursed as the rest of them.

Which was... Not a great thought to have. "Thanks again, Ivory," he said. Weaving around a few of his housemates, he headed for the door.


	13. It's Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds a way to stop everyone from asking him to the ball. Kinda.

The last straw occurred when a girl in his own house asked him to the ball. She knew who he was, and what happened to him.

She just, John supposed, didn't care how he felt about it all.

And he needed a way to get it to stop. Thankfully, he had a plan, though it wasn't his best plan ever. At least he hoped it would stop the endless stream of propositioning.

Having set his mind to it, John found he couldn't possibly wait for a better time, which was why he was out in the sleet, mid-afternoon, traipsing through the mud on his way to the Quidditch pitch. The tiny figures of the Hufflepuff team flew a hundred feet above the soaked grass, the rainy mix causing the frozen bristles of their brooms to droop toward the ground. Overhead, the clouds darkened in preparation for an early November thunderstorm.

A gust of wind blew a stinging spat of sleet into John's face. He closed his eyes just in time.

One of the fliers, due to lack of attention or bad luck, took a bludger to the stomach. Thankfully, they were only a dozen feet above the grass when they fell, splashing into a muddy puddle beneath them.

Roger's voice called, "I'm all right!" He raised a hand and waved to the others. One of his teammates hovered just over him as he struggled to his feet.

He was covered head to toe with black mud.

"Roger!" John called. Both Roger and his teammate looked. Roger waved the other Hufflepuff off. She shrugged, and went to join her teammates in the sky.

"Quite a fall, eh?" Roger asked, almost breathless. "I meant to do it, though. You know, give the beaters somethin' to be proud of. Take one for the team and all that. Oh, _Merlin_ that hurt." He bent over, bracing his hands on his knees.

"You're an idiot," John said. He couldn't keep the chatter from rattling his teeth.

Roger looked up, grinning. His eyes were a sort of steel color today--a mixture of the purple and blue. "You came all the way out here to tell me I'm an idiot? That's so sweet!"

"No, I came out here..." John trailed off, his trifling teaspoon of bravery having fled several seconds earlier.

Roger arched his eyebrows. "Yes, you did come out here. In the rain. You're cold--" He shrugged out of his robe, held it out, then realized it was covered in mud. "Er..."

"I'll pass," John said.

"Wise," Roger replied. "C'mon. We'll at least get out of the rain."

Taking John's sleeve, he led them across the pitch and under one of the stands. The bleachers, high above, diminished the rain and sleet that reached them, though they were still standing almost ankle deep in wet slop.

With difficulty, Roger managed to get his robe back over his shoulders. "So, did you find something?"

Strangely, now that he was covered in mud, and with the cold bringing a pink flush to his face, Roger had much more of a girlish look to him. Especially with the open robe; the jumper beneath it didn't really hide much. John tilted his head.

"What is it the girls say to me?" Roger asked. "Ah. My eyes are up here."

John blinked and looked up. "Well, it's just the first time I've realized you're a girl," he said. "It's a rather big moment for me."

Roger grinned. "You've been hanging around Freddie and I too much. I'm so proud." He wrapped John in a muddy, disgusting hug. "All that snark from such a little guy. You're growing up. Soon you'll be leaving home. Oh, I can't take it. I might cry--"

"Roger."

"Mm-hm?" He made a big show of dabbing his eyes, only succeeding in swiping mud across his face.

Well, it was now or never, John supposed, before he got too angry and hexed or cursed his friend, instead. He already couldn't hide his irritation that he had to do this in the first place. Or, well, he didn't _have_ to, necessarily, but it would be so much easier in the long run. "I need you to go to the Quincentennial Ball with me."

"What?"

"I'm tired of people asking me. And if I can tell them, 'look, I already have a date,' it'd be... Well. Look--Okay, Freddie told me--"

"He told you!?"

"It's okay." John held out his hands. "Look, it's fine, really. I'm not mad. To be fair, Freddie thought Filch was about to kill us, and he thought I ought to know."

Roger's eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his head. He took a step backward. "I _really_ didn't mean to. You're just... Well, _look at you,_ John! I've been trying to, well... Not... Think about..."

"I know," John said. "I know. I've noticed. And I trust you."

"But there's so many... Others..." Roger shook his head, smiling mirthlessly. "I mean, I've kinda laid awake thinkin' at night, I should ask you, just 'cuz we won't ever have another chance, but I thought you'd kill me."

John hated that his friends were afraid of him. At the same time, he couldn't help the surge of pride deep down inside. "I trust. _You,"_ he said.

Roger nodded. He fidgeted. He scratched the back of his head.

"And the deal's off if we get ourselves changed back by then."

Roger sighed, almost relieved. "Yeah, that's good. Okay. Uh, so this is really weird, you know that, right?"

Boy, did John ever know. He was out here in a sleet storm asking one of his best friends--currently a girl--to a dance that he didn't even want to go to. Not only that, but he didn't even know what the big deal was about his appearance. He looked in the mirror and saw some strange girl. Pretty, he supposed, but for all the boys--and one girl--in the castle to want to take him to the ball... It just didn't make sense.

John finally said, "I know what I'm doing."

The more time Roger had to think about it, the more his shoulders relaxed. He opened his mouth to say something, when one of his teammates called, "Hey, Rog! What are you doing under there with that bird? We got practice, you dung beetle!"

John felt his cheeks blaze red; the heat cut through the cold.

But Roger just rolled his eyes. "Look, you can get out through the back so they won't see you." He nodded to the small portal on the other side of the stands. "Are you sure about this, John?"

"Yeah. And it's all because you're able to ask that question and really mean it," John said.

He left Roger with a confused expression on his face as he hurried back to the warmth of the castle.  
  


\---

  
Someone--and Freddie had a very good idea who--shouted the password from the hall loud enough for the entire school to hear.

The door opened and admitted John, who slammed it shut behind him. Pressing himself up against the door, his arms splayed to the surrounding walls, he glared at Freddie and Brian. With as ruffled and harried as he looked... Well, it appeared he'd been attacked, and outside, in the rain! He was covered with mud and soaked through to his skin. His hair hung in tangled, sopping strands past his shoulders.

"John--" Freddie started.

"Is he here yet?" John demanded. "The bloody _git._ He-- He--"

A protective spark rumbled in Freddie's heart, which was just as insistent as the sickness from Halloween, but much more tolerable. Just in case some creature was about to break down the door and invade their room, Freddie drew his wand from his pocket, holding it ready at his side.

Brian, likewise, stood, his eyes narrowed. "What happened, Deaks?"

Freddie added, "Is someone after you? Those Slytherins?"

"No! It's _Roger_!" John snapped. "That idiot! Thought it'd be hilarious to get here before I could tell you!"

Brian closed his eyes, pressing his lips together in exasperation. "I swear," he said, sitting back down on the bed and pulling his arithmancy book back into his lap. "With the drama all of you create, I'm going to have grey hair by the time I graduate."

As patiently as he could, Freddie took John's mud-caked shoulders, guided him away from the door, and over to the fire. There was a partition there so they could all dress in privacy. "Here, let's get you out of this," Freddie said, pulling at the robe.

But John looked over his shoulder, green eyes glaring. "Don't."

"It's all right. I'm trying to help," Freddie said. "Look, you'll get sick if you stay in these wet clothes!"

John continued glaring at him for several seconds, though his brows were knit in thought. Eventually, he looked at the floor and nodded. Surrendering the robe, he let Freddie peel it from his shoulders.

"Ugh. Were you rolling in the mud?" Freddie asked. Holding the garment between two fingers, he dropped it over by the door. A puddle seeped from it and shimmered against the yellow brick.

John stepped behind the partition, careful to warn, "Don't look," as soon as he was hidden.

"I won't, dear. Really. Are your clothes in your trunk?"

John didn't answer, but a moment later, his mud-saturated dress shirt appeared at the periphery of the partition. It, too, formed a disgusting puddle on the floor. "Just... Don't look," he repeated.

Brian set his book down again, sliding off the bed to kneel in front of John's trunk. He opened it, carefully searching the articles in the way someone searching for landmines might poke around the forest floor. "What's Roger supposed to be telling us?" he asked.

"He couldn't just..." John muttered. His trousers landed atop his shirt with a _plop._ "He's not supposed to be telling you anything at all, but he got all--he got all _Roger_ about it!"

"Well now I'm curious." Freddie leaned on the wall, well out of range of the partition.

"I suppose you would have found out sooner or later," John grumbled. "I... Well. I asked Roger to the dance." Before anyone could say a word, John exclaimed, "But there was a reason for it! Everyone kept asking me to go, and I--"

"Why didn't you just tell everyone you weren't going?" Brian asked. Careful not to look around John's wall, he delivered a bundle of clothes. 

"I can't just _not go,_ can I?" John asked, as if the answer was obvious. "I don't want to miss anything."

"To that, I can only shrug," Brian said, and shrugged. "You didn't strike me as the curious type."

John offered a noncommittal grunt.

"Roger, though?" Freddie asked, wrinkling his nose.

John didn't answer, unless the rustling of his clothes counted as conversation.

Freddie needed to fill the silence. He asked, "How's the potion going, you two?"

It was strange to see the almost triumphant smile on Brian's face, though it turned carefully neutral after just a fraction of a second. "Well, I've got the ingredients," he said. "Most of them, anyhow. And the last ones don't have to be added for another couple weeks, so I should be able to find them on time. Either of you got any tips?"

What a silly question. "Tips?" Freddie asked. "Supposedly you're the expert--What's that smirk?"

Brian shook his head. That odd smile was back. "I'm just nervous. You know."

"Mm-hm," Freddie replied. He couldn't imagine Brian being nervous, though. The Ravenclaw put the potions master to shame sometimes with his skill.

Finally, John appeared, dressed, with a dry robe draped over his shoulders. The dampness from his hair seeped into the cloth, darkening it. "I've got to go check on it tonight, just before curfew."

"Right. More importantly," Freddie said, hands on his hips. "You asked _Roger_ to the Quincentennial?"

"That's not more important than the potion," John said. "Anyway, I had my reasons."

"Hope they're good ones, mate," Brian chuckled, clapping John on the shoulder.

" _Roger, though_?" Freddie said, mostly to himself, and entirely in disbelief. He grabbed John's brush off their shared dresser, nearly knocking over an open jar full of leaves and purple petals. "I swear, Brian, you have to keep your ingredients elsewhere. They're all over the--"

"Yes. Roger," John interrupted, smiling despite himself.

"A tactical date," Brian mused. Leaning on one of his bedposts, he crossed his feet at the ankles, and crossed his arms over his chest. "How very Slytherin of you."

John beamed.

"Oh, sit down already," Freddie said. He pulled out the desk chair, motioning John toward it. "We've got to do something with your hair, or I'm going to panic. Look, it's all--well, let's just say, John, dear. Mud's never been in fashion, and it certainly isn't _now._ Brian, a towel, if you will. Please."

As Brian wandered toward their pile of fresh towels, John sat in the chair, although he scowled at Freddie via the reflection in the mirror. "I can brush my own hair."

"I know. But you've got such beautiful hair, dear. I like it so."

By now, most of the remaining dampness had soaked into John's robe. Even so, when Brian returned with a towel, Freddie ruffled it over John's hair, sopping up the remaining water and a good bit of mud, as well.

As he ran the brush through John's tangles, Freddie hummed softly, without regret, allowing his voice to have just the little bit of freedom it constantly craved. He almost wished he never had to go back to Gryffindor House. Here in their own little private suite, he could sing as he was meant to, as all sirens did. He could neither hurt nor hypnotize anyone, though he did spare a glance back to Brian, who languished on the edge of his bed with a dreamy smile on his face.

Freddie continued tunelessly, until he worked all the tangles out of John's hair. "There we go. Much better," he said, reaching over John's shoulder to hand him a tiny twig. "Perhaps you were saving this for later."

In the mirror, John's reflection rolled his eyes, and Brian's reflection shook his head, hair whipping into his face.

"Powerful," Brian said, just as he did every time Freddie got to humming.

"So we've established," Freddie replied. "Look, Brian, if John's taking Roger to the ball, I suppose you and I should go together."

Brian blinked, his eyes cartoonishly owlish. "What?"

"Yes, I think it would be fun. Tell me you'll go with me, dear."

Brian arched his eyebrows, rubbing at his temples. His lips curled into a half-smile. "The funny thing is, I'm tempted to say yes. It's not the song is it?"

"Well, if it is, then I order you to give me a straight answer. Or a gay answer, as it were, I suppose. No lying."

Brian answered the demand with a quizzical quirk of the _other_ eyebrow. "A gay answer."

"Well, yes. We're both boys. Or girls, depending on how you look at it."

John asked, "Oh, _gay_ as in _gay."_

Freddie put his hands on his hips. "What in Triton's name did you think I meant, darling?"

"Happy?" John suggested.

Once again, Freddie heard their password shouted from the hallway, which meant anyone in the school who hadn't heard the first one _certainly_ heard the second. It went without saying, really. The next time any of them went out, their room would be invaded by Hufflepuffs.

No offense meant to the one who charged into the room like a bull with an arrow in its backside, of course.

"I think I'll have the headmistress change our password," Brian said. He wandered over to the desk, grabbed the jar with leaves in it, and capped it. After holding it up to eye-level to study it, he dropped the jar into his pocket. "Just in case. And the answer is 'yes.' I'd love to."

Smirking at Freddie, Brian spun on his heels, and stepped past Roger into the corridor.

"John already told you, didn't he?" Roger asked, disappointment caking every word.

Freddie noticed his clothes were dry. "You might have gotten here first, if you hadn't dallied," Freddie suggested. "Congratulations on getting a date from the prettiest girl in Hogwarts."

John sunk into his chair, cheeks flushing. Freddie gave his shoulder a gentle pat.  
  


\---

  
Although no day in the history of the planet was ever longer than twenty-four hours, John felt as if this one had lasted at least double.

That was mostly due to the fact that he couldn't bear to think of what he'd done, which meant that what he'd done occupied his every waking thought. What possessed him to ask _Roger_ to the bloody dance?

As he told the others, he had his reasons, which his brain processed in a tedious, slogging manner as he waited for the infernal moving staircase to let him off on the right landing. Ask the Hufflepuff and avoid further confrontation with the rest of the school's hopeful, amorous population. That was the plan.

Except it hadn't ended there, had it?  
  
Idiot, John reminded himself. Hufflepuffs talk, and _Roger was a Hufflepuff!_

Making sure the stairs were letting him off at the _right_ third floor corridor, and not the one that led to small room with a large, unintentional drop down to the second floor, John left the staircase behind.

Lately, and more often than not, John found himself perpetually grumpy.

That mostly came from the prospect of living the rest of his life in the wrong body, with the wrong voice, and waking up every morning in a dull, agonizing sort of panic that grew worse over time. John should have been used to it by now, he told himself. And yet every time he spent too much time thinking about it, he'd fall right back into the irritating static of _You Must Deserve This Fate_.

Then that, in turn, would make him angrier. "There's nothing wrong with being a girl," he said out loud to the empty corridor.

It just wasn't him.

Taking a deep breath, John tried to convince his heart to settle down and stop trying to break through his ribcage. Now wasn't the time for a panic attack, because he had to attend to the Role Reversal potion. It had to be right. It had to be perfect.  
  
It was their last hope. _His_ last hope.   
  
And it might just kill him, if Brian was to be believed.   
  
But John had plans. If anything, he was a thinker. A rationalizer. A reasoner. Already, the itinerary formed in his mind; prepare the infirmary. Educate himself on the likely side effects. And hopefully, live through the whole ordeal.

He had to take that chance. The others could wait and see what happened to him for all John cared, but he had to try.

"Maybe I could have been a Gryffindor," he wondered.

Perish the thought. Perish it, and burn it, then bury the ashes.

He did spare a moment to imagine himself in red robes, gallivanting around like Freddie, with a hero complex displayed so loudly that the whole world could see. That wasn't John either, though, which led to him asking the question, "Who am I?"

What did it matter what he looked like? What did it matter what he sounded like? It didn't change him at all. He could still cast a curse better than anyone.

But he felt so trapped within his own skin.

He paused to scratch his fingers over one of the chalk markings on the wall. In the torchlight, the lines glowed a soft purple. Maybe it'd be better to have his existential crisis after he added his vial of bowtruckle dust to the potion.

Composing himself, he opened the door to the hidden room.

He was surprised to find it was already occupied. In the flickering light of a single torch, a stooped figure bent over the cauldron.

The cauldron was tipped over on its side.

Its contents spilled across the floor.

"Odin," John hissed.


	14. Odin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Has the perpetrator been caught red-handed? It sure looks that way!

John's wand was in his hand before he truly understood what was happening. A moment later, he realized he'd snapped off a spell, though the red bolt--whatever it was he'd cast--completely missed its target.

That's when all the nastiest curses he knew came to mind--terrible bits of magic he shouldn't have known, but that he couldn't release from his memory. The ripping curse. The lace-eyes curse. The experimental one that turned all the bones in your hands and feet to jelly, and then the one that caused your clavicles to grow out and through your skin. The one that caused the floor to open up and grab your feet, holding you in place as the stone slowly devoured you. There were more. So _many_ more, and of all varieties that were far too terrible to print in proper wizarding texts.

The words to the categorically Unforgivable curses also flashed through John's mind. He could picture the wand movements and hear the spells in his own voice.   
  
Given the rage that pulsed behind his eyes, and the desperation he felt through every inch of his body, John knew he could probably cast them successfully. He wanted to cry and scream, to verbally curse this boy who ruined _everything,_ who destroyed their last chance. He momentarily imagined stuffing the flickering torch down the front of Odin's robe, or slamming his face down into the still-flickering coals where the cauldron once sat.

But Roger's stupid book told him he had to count to ten first.  


John got to two before he realized Odin wasn't even moving. Standing next to the spilled potion, he slowly rocked back and forth, his eyes unfocused and staring. Come to think of it, the kid hadn't even flinched when John cast _Expelliarmus--_ he's sure that's what it was--and missed.

It wasn't the type of staring one did when they were _caught,_ either.

"Odin?" John sniffled, dragging the sleeve of his robe across his face. His head was pounding with pent-up anger, but something was wrong. Casting Lumos, he snapped his fingers in front of Odin's face, but the younger Slytherin didn't even react. Not even a blink. It was almost like Freddie caught him in his song, but Freddie was sound asleep in their room when John left it.

Curious, John poked Odin's face.

Nothing.

Two thoughts intertwined in John's mind at the same time. The first, of course, was that something was wrong with Odin, and the other was that he might still be able to salvage the potion. Really, he couldn't. There was no way. It was spilled from one end of the room to the other, and had been off the heat for several minutes by this point. It was ruined.

Still, with desperation guiding him, John knelt and tried scooping the thick liquid back into the cauldron with his hands.

Not a moment after he replaced the second handful, Odin calmly reach down and tipped the cauldron over again.

Then he went back to staring.

"Please..." John said, either to Odin or the spilled potion. "No, this can't be happening. Something..."

The silvery sheen of the puddle faded as the potion turned inert and dimly iridescent.

Too late. All too late. John wiped his hands on his robe, leaving shiny smudges behind.

They'd done so much to look for the cure already. Surely they'd scoured every book where a counter-curse could appear, and yet the most they found was a spell to extend the original curse. Re-making the potion was the only way.

And now, even if they used all Brian's methods to speed up its production, they'd still fall two days short of their goal.

Partly from anger, and partly to see if it would snap Odin out of his stupor, John landed a powerful smack on his cheek. All he succeeded in doing, though, was unbalancing the kid, who flopped over onto his side.

Still staring.

John sobbed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Someone in the school was out there casting the Imperius Curse on his innocent housemates, but all John could think about was himself and how he'd be trapped in the wrong body for the rest of his life. And also how he'd been so angry at the destruction of his best hope that he could have cast an unforgivable curse in that rage. Once again, he found himself in a situation where he could have killed someone.

But he hadn't.

"You didn't," John told himself.

He leaned forward, hands resting in the useless puddle of ingredients on the stone. That's all they were anymore--a mix of ingredients with no purpose. He should have cleaned it up, but he couldn't even summon the energy to move.

Beside him, still lying on the floor next to the puddle, Odin grunted.

It snapped John out of his self-pity. "Hey," he said, trying a smile. "It's all right. It'll be all right."

He was talking to himself just as much as his housemate.

Odin tried to say something, his movements jerky as he tried to escape the spell. John sloshed through the potion on his knees, taking the cursed Slytherin under his arms and sitting him up as best he could.

And John held him close, his eyes focused on the tipped cauldron as Odin twitched and tensed, fighting to break from the curse's hold. "We'll get you to Pomfrey as soon as you think you can walk," John said. "C'mon. You're almost through it. You can do it."

Who would curse a second year Slytherin student like this, John wondered? No, he knew who could do it. Other Slytherins. His older housemates. The same ones who'd been tormenting him since his very first year at Hogwarts.

John didn't realize he was digging his fingers into Odin's arm until Odin managed a shaky, disjointed "Ow."

"Sorry," John said.

"It's--It's--" Odin tried. He managed some sort of gasp, or sob, or exclamation which John couldn't translate.

To hell with Roger's stupid book. "I'll curse 'em all," John said. We'll get 'em back, Odin. Don't worry."

"John," Odin said.

"I'm here, buddy."

"I don't... Remember..."

"It'll come back to you."   
  
"N--nh." Odin sat back, his head in his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking from the corner. "Tip the potion over--"

Despite way his heart desperately skipped about in his chest, John said as gently as he could, "I think you already did that."

Odin nodded.

"You don't remember who made you do it?" John asked.

"No." Half-lidded eyes opened, staring at John in a tranced daze. "I don't think I--" Trailing off, Odin seemed to drift in and out of full consciousness, his gaze growing distant and dreamlike. He rocked back and forth, nearly falling over again, had John not caught him. "I don't think I meant to."

"I don't think you did, either."

"Why am I here?"

John attempted to swallow that lump in his throat--the one that kept him just on the verge of tears and temper. His eyes stung, though; selfishly, he realized it was more over the lost potion than the curse on his housemate. He cared. He knew he did. But Odin would be okay--probably--whereas John felt like he would never be okay again. He took a deep breath, trying to sweep the potential of a frenzied outburst to the darkest corners of his mind. "C'mon," he said. He could deal with his disappointment later.

Getting to his feet, John ignored the silver-grey remains of the potion soaking into his robe and through his trousers and lifted Odin off the floor. At first, Odin didn't grasp what was happening; his feet slid on the slick floor and fumbled for purchase before he became dead weight in John's arms.   
  
"You have to walk," John said. "Put your feet down."

"Are we going somewhere?"

John didn't like this confusion, nor the sort of dream-like state that persisted even after Odin followed whatever command he'd been given. "Can you snap out of it?" John asked, though he already knew the answer. Curses weren't something you could just will to end.

"Snap out of what?" Odin wondered, though he finally got his feet under him. Carefully, John let go, one hand holding the hood of Odin's robe until they were both sure he wouldn't just collapse to the floor again. Although shaky, and with his legs splayed a bit to either side, Odin remained upright.

"There's a spell on you," John said, then amended, "I think. No, I'm pretty sure."

It had to be the Imperius Curse. There were no other sirens at Hogwarts besides Freddie.

Odin didn't reply.

It took them an absurdly long time to reach the infirmary. At first, Odin tried to fight his way back into the room containing the spilled potion, during which he seemed prepared to cry about John's refusal to admit him. Once John managed to convince him to come along, they had to navigate the ever-shifting staircases, and with his mind full of other worries, John made a few mistakes before they reached the right floor.

Then, Odin sat down on a step, clutching his head.

"We're right here--" John said, pointing to the ornate doors. "Come on, Odin. We don't want to be out here when it's after curfew. Filch'll get us for sure."

"Right, yeah," Odin muttered. "Sorry, it's just that I'm feeling a little dizzy."

"Odin!"

"Just. Lemme. Sit..."

At least he was talking now.

Frustrated, and probably bordering on an all-out tantrum, John seized Odin under his arms and dragged the surprised boy toward the infirmary. Opening it with one foot, John negotiated both of them past the heavy door, where he rather roughly deposited his burden in front of the weathered old desk just inside. Odin wobbled and emitted an exclamation of protest, but managed to remain seated.

The arcane scent of magic, along with the more mundane aura of antiseptic, assaulted John's nose.

"You? _Again?"_ came Pomfrey's voice. She peered out from behind a curtained partition, her beady eyes narrowed with exasperation. "What's going on now, young Deacon? I suppose we're becoming friends by now, I see you so much!"

"This is Odin, uh..."

"Hammerthorn," Odin said.

"Hammerthorn. Of course it is," John muttered. "I went to check on a project, and I found him..." He grimaced, gritting his teeth. "Madam Pomfrey, I hate to ask this, but can you please get the headmistress? She'll--I--That is, he's--I don't--"

"Spit it out, Deacon," she said with a gentleness that didn't fit the words.

"I think he's been Imperiused, Ma'am."

She gasped, searching his face for any sign that he might have been joking. He could so easily read her mood from her eyes--first skeptical, then disbelieving, then _afraid._ "Mister Deacon, this is... Well, if you're right, then this is a serious allegation. One of the _most_ serious! I hope you're not..."

She trailed off, and John shook his head with slow resolution. "He was focused on this... Thing. This task, I guess. Even after he'd done it. And he..." John pointed to his eyes, trying to make them unfocused and distant. "Like that. Like he couldn't see."

"M'fine now," Odin said from the floor.

"You're not. Hush," John said.

Madam Pomfrey covered her mouth with one hand, her index finger tapping on her nose as she considered. "Yes, I think we'd best get Minerva, if what you say is true. Can you get him to a bed? Any empty one will do."

She whirled away without waiting for an answer.

The tile in the infirmary was rife with chips, cracks, and hard edges, which meant John couldn't really drag Odin any farther, or he'd tear his robe. With a sigh, and ignoring the anxiety-driven weakness in his knees, John pushed his shoulder under Odin's armpit and lifted, guiding him toward the nearest open bed.

They passed one girl with bright yellow skin, and another student huddled thoroughly under their blankets before John could drop Odin onto an unoccupied mattress. The kid bounced once, then sat on the edge of the bed, his face blank.

"Do you remember anything yet?" John asked.

Odin focused, but only long enough to answer, "Where are we?"

"In the hospital."

"Oh, yeah. I remember that."

John couldn't help a grunt of frustration, then another as he realized how irritatingly feminine it sounded. "Before that, though?"

"No. M'sorry, John."

Defeated, John sat next to his housemate. His knees and hands burned a bit from the potion seeping into his skin; drawing his robe and one pantleg back, he checked to see if it had any physical effect. Besides being red and sore, his leg seemed okay, though his hands were a little bumpy from the rash.

"It's from the undistilled augury tears, I think," John muttered to Odin, who wasn't listening. "They're a bit painful if you're not careful. It's a good thing they were diluted, though, 'else these'd be _real_ burns."

Really, he had no idea what caused the rash. He should probably have Pomfrey check it out to make sure he wasn't going to grow scales or something. Just what he needed. Not only a girl, but a reptile as well? That'd be perfect.

McGonagall was taking her time arriving.

"My ears are ringing," Odin said.

"I think Pomfrey'll be able to do something about that when she gets back," John said. 

Odd as it seemed, Odin's breathing became more obvious. Heavier, like he'd been running. It made sense, given that he'd be fighting quite laboriously to shed the curse on him. He fidgeted, starting with minor, almost imperceptible tics, which grew into upper-body jerks, and kicking, and thrashing of his head.

It was so much like someone trying to recover from siren song.

Then again, John supposed breaking out of the Imperius Curse would be about the same. The magical families of both spells were only distantly related, but they accomplished the same purpose.

"You--you're still a girl," Odin remarked.

John really wanted to snap off some sarcastic reply, but he couldn't. He just felt heavy now, with the loss of the potion. Although there was still time to research and correct the problem, his hope dwindled close to nothing. "Seems that way," he finally said.

"John! John, the _potion!"_ His eyes welled with tears, but in his current state, he couldn't seem to do much else. Though not the best at being comforting, John wrapped an arm around Odin's shoulders.

"I know."

"I didn't mean to!"

"I know that, too."  

As Odin sobbed, John held him close, trying not to think about how close he'd come to killing the boy not a half hour earlier. He also tried not to think about Odin's collar bones growing through his skin, curling back around, and severing something vital.

But he couldn't get the visceral image out of his head.

He'd have to learn better curses. No--not better. Safer. Curses where the victim couldn't die. Curses which were psychologically damaging, perhaps, but not life-threatening. Not to use--John hoped to never actually utilize such horrible spells--but just in case he lost his temper. Just in case things got to a point of no return. He wanted the first thought in his mind to be something he could _undo._

Maybe he could borrow Brian's page-deficient spellbook.

McGonagall glided through the door, her robes whipping around her ankles even as she maintained a stately pace. As she paused to search for Odin, Slughorn appeared, as well. Most surprisingly, a certain trio comprised of a Gryffindor, a Ravenclaw, and a Hufflepuff followed.

Finally, Madam Pomfrey returned, and closed the door behind her.

"There, Horace," McGonagall said. Turning on her heel, she beelined for Odin's bed, her eyes narrowed and focused.

"Mr. Deacon, if you'll leave us alone," she said, voice clipped and strained.

"No, John--" Odin whimpered.

John wished he could have thought of something to say in that moment. Something comforting, that could have put his housemate's mind at ease, but he barely had the fortitude to get himself to his feet and process what the headmistress said before Slughorn was taking his shoulders and guiding him away from the bed. "Wait for us with the others," he said.

Pomfrey whisked the curtain closed, cutting the bed off from view. No sound came from within; the curtains appeared to be charmed with some sort of soundproofing.

John didn't know what to do with himself. Wringing his hands and ignoring the pain in his fingers, he stared at the spot where Odin would be, were he able to see through the thick drapery in front of him.

"John?" Roger tried. John jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, it's okay!" Freddie said, holding up his hands. "What the bloody hell happened?"

Brian's eyes widened when he saw John's hands, then his gaze traveled downward to the vicinity of John's knees, where the remains of the role reversal potion glimmered against the black fabric of his robe. "The potion," he said.

John nodded. "I caught Odin--"

"Well, the little _snot!_ " Roger interrupted. "And I was just beginning to like 'im, too! What was he doing in there, anyway?"

"I think..." John started, though his throat closed up, cutting off his words. His jaw, somewhere in the vicinity of his back teeth, felt like it was on fire; it quivered for a moment, pushing the despair onward. His nose stung and watered. His eyes filled with tears.

No. No, he wouldn't cry. Not here. _Not at all._

"John, are you all right, dear?" Freddie asked.

Composing himself, John said, "I think Odin was Imperiused."

The other three stared at him, eyes wide with confusion and horror. Running his fingers through his hair, John said, "He dumped the cauldron. It's gone. That's it. That was our last chance."

"It's not done yet!" Brian said. "Look, John, there's avenues we haven't pursued yet. There's still..." As Brian reached out a comforting hand, John twitched away, refusing to look at any of them.

"There's someone in the school who wants it to be done," John snapped. "What are you three doing here, anyway?"

While Roger and Freddie looked to each other for an answer, Brian shrugged. "The headmistress fetched us on her way here."

There weren't many places to sit in the infirmary, unless you were visiting a patient, or were actually a patient yourself. It was Roger who finally grew tired of standing around, leaned against the nearest convenient wall, and tried to slide to the floor. The old stone caught his robe, he squeaked with embarrassed resolve, and used his hands to walk down the rest of the wall.

Brian sat next to him.

John, exhausted by his adrenaline-fueled rage, sat down next to Brian.

Freddie continued to pace.

"Can I see your knees?" Brian asked. After John shook his head, Brian rolled his eyes. "Come on, it's not as if we don't all know what legs look like."

John supposed that was true.

Stretching his legs out in front of him, John pulled his robe and both pantlegs back, revealing the rash, which was starting to turn purple. Not bruise-purple, but actual bright, rainbow purple. It'd be pretty, if it wasn't plastered across his shins. He flipped his hands over, too, where the same purple rash caused his skin to form tiny blisters on his palms.

Brian shifted, getting his wand from his pocket. "Yep, that's the augury tears," he said. "Combined with the--"

"Mooncalf hoofdust," John said. "Yeah, that's why it stings."

Almost giddy, Brian said, "It's really just an abrasive wound, which means it doesn't have a magical lead. I should be able to heal it. I've been practicing my healing spells."

"Which we're not supposed to learn 'til sixth year, isn't that right, Fred?" Roger asked.

Freddie thrashed his hands once, dismissively. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to learn this year, darling!"

"Can I try?" Brian asked. The hopeful look on his face became almost sullen. "If I can't fix what happened to all of us, at least let me do this?"

John couldn't help a smile. Brian had worked himself so ragged over the past few weeks that the dark smudges under his eyes were starting to look as dark as Roger's. The Ravenclaw could probably use a win, as small as it would be. "You're not going to disappear my knees, are you?"

Brian returned a lop-sided smile. "I sure hope not. I mean... No. I won't. Besides, I _really_ want to try!"

There was something desperate in his voice. As much as John liked his knees, he nodded.

Even Freddie leaned over to watch.

Brian pressed his lips together. "Nothing like undue pressure," he said. "Right. Here 'goes. _Episkey._ "

John's shins felt very cold, like he'd knelt in snow rather than spilled potion. The relief was instant and welcome, spreading down to his ankles and just above his knees. Then he grimaced as the chill dissolved into prickles of heat--not exactly painful, but not comfortable, either. When he opened his eyes, which he hadn't realized he'd closed, the rash was much diminished. Only the tiniest hint of purple remained.

Brian repeated the spell on John's hands, which ached for just a quick second as the unnatural color faded from them.

"Well, hell, if you can heal that, why can't, you heal..." Freddie finished the question by gesturing to the scales on his face.

" _Episkey_ is for relatively minor things," Brian said. "And besides that, you can't heal curses. Curses kind of alter your state of being. Listen. Guys. We'll find something. I'll work harder. We'll get this. I promise."

They were running out of time. Again.

The curtain around Odin's bed parted just enough to let the headmistress and the potions master out. Someone--presumably Madam Pomfrey--closed it back up from the inside. McGonagall and Slughorn whispered between themselves for several long moments, before making their way over to where the boys were waiting.

"How is he?" John asked.

Slughorn leaned back on one leg, crossing his arms. "Asleep."

"I removed the effects of whatever... spell... he was under," McGonagall said.

"And?" John asked. He sat forward, attentive, but it just wasn't enough. He had to climb to his feet, too. His hand went to his pocket, fingers closing around his wand, as if he could curse the person who ruined everything right from the hospital. "Who did it?"

"The memories are gone," McGonagall said. "Usually, we see curses burying memories. Twisting them into something else. These? They've been removed."

Roger stood, too. When John looked over his shoulder, Brian had his head in his hands. They'd all been hoping for something. Some sort of lead.

"Headmistress... What kind of spell can remove memories?" Roger asked.

"There are several. Some more difficult than others," McGonagall said. Pursing her lips, she clasped her hands together. "More importantly, I must discuss the curse itself."

"Imperius," John said.

"Perhaps, Mr. Deacon. Yes, perhaps. But Mr. Hammerthorn's symptoms more closely mimicked the effects of siren song."

No one said anything for several long seconds, then Freddie, with no decorum whatsoever, demanded, "What?"

"Headmistress, before I left, Freddie was in bed. I know he was," John said. "I told him I'd be right back, and he--well he mumbled something."

"I was half asleep," Freddie said.

"It couldn't have been him." Of that, John was sure.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed in thought as her fingers tapped against each other. She wouldn't have wanted to come to the conclusion that John did--that someone in the castle was using the Imperius Curse. Even so... Was there any other explanation? Any other option?

"Hm," Slughorn said. "We could give him Veritaserum."

Freddie's eyes widened, and he squeaked in surprise.

"But you can't--!" Roger started.

Brian, though equally disturbed, climbed to his feet and patted his shoulders to hush him. "Headmistress, it's just that--well, with Veritaserum, you--it's not just the truth you need to tell. It's--It's every..." He trailed off, squaring his shoulders. "If this is because Freddie's half-siren and you don't want to believe him, I should remind you that the Magical Beings Protection Act of--"

Freddie stepped forward, trying and failing to stand even taller than Brian. "It's all right, Bri," he said, taking a deep, steadying breath through his nose. "But you should all know, before I do this, I'm very gay."

Everyone stared at him.

Freddie said, "Well, Roger was right. If I'm going to tell everyone, I ought to be able to do it on my terms, right?"

Slughorn laughed and glanced over at McGonagall. "Well, I think he passes the test, don't you?"

McGonagall sighed. "Professor Slughorn thought it would be a wonderful idea to offer the use of Veritaserum to see how you would react, Mr. Mercury. Should you have balked, you might have been under further suspicion. That, obviously, wasn't the truth we were looking for."

"You're gay?" Brian asked, his voice flat. "What a revelation."

"Well, I was afraid..." Freddie turned red, shrinking back for a moment before once again standing his ground. "You were threatening me with Veritaserum!"

John wondered for a moment if the professors had any scruples at all. Then again, had Freddie not been amicable to the idea, they would have had to make sure they got the truth from him... Wouldn't they? It seemed so invasive, and yet it would have been the only way to know for sure. Right? John's anger betrayed him, his voice speaking without his permission: "I told you both he didn't do it. You ought to have trusted me. Why would he--why would _any_ of us--sabotage that potion?"

"Well, I could think of a reason," Freddie said. "Although if I were to dump it over to save your arse, John, I would have done it myself, and told you to your face. Look." His shoulders relaxed. For a moment, he looked back at the others, then to the headmistress. "I wouldn't have done this. I don't use my voice like that."

"I know, Mr. Mercury," McGonagall said. "Threatening the use of Veritaserum was not my choice." She glanced at Slughorn.

"I'll take it!" Roger piped up. "I have all sorts of things to embarrass you with. Like the time I--"

"You'd tell the truth about the howlers," Brian said.

Roger trailed off, scratching his chin. "It's a risk I'm willing to take. And, you know, if this was some sort of book or something, people would be starting to get really irritated that we never actually told that story."

"We're not giving _any_ of you Veritaserum," McGonagall said. "We don't even have any on hand. I will say, Mr. Deacon, that I am quite glad the potion was destroyed. I'm sorry you had to find it in that way..."

John felt the anger rising. He wanted to scream and rage at her. At the headmistress! He wanted to _give her a piece of his mind...!_

"But your friends would miss you, if you were gone."

Well that sobered him. "I thought..." he started. "I thought if I took it here, in the infirmary, we'd be able to counteract any effects..."

"Perhaps," McGonagall said. "But perhaps not. Magic--especially poorly understood magic--isn't easy to control. The probable outcome, John," she paused, gently and uncharacteristically using his first name, "is that you would have died. And for what?"

He looked at the floor. Roger leaned against him. He felt Brian and Freddie's hands on his back.

"We're doing our best to find a cure," McGonagall went on. "But your loss would be tragically pointless, even if this can't be fixed."

"Yeah, we'll adjust," Freddie said. "You will, John, dear. Look, there's things muggles do, to make it all right. Make themselves a different gender. We can do that. You can do that."

"Are we giving up?" John asked.

"Nah," Roger said. Violating John's personal space, he threw his arms around him, hugging him close. "But if our only two choices were 'giving up' or 'losing John,' I think I'd rather give up. We won't. We won't, John! But we might have to accept that..."

He trailed off. No one wanted to say it.

McGonagall broke the silence. "We're after curfew now. I'll see you back to your room."


	15. Secrets and Sketches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivory has a plan, while John pulls off a not-so-daring heist.

As a rule, Roger hated mirrors.   
  
Not because they _lied,_ nor because they supposedly added ten pounds--or was that cameras? Nor even because breaking one would cause seven years bad luck.   
  
No. It was because every time he looked into one, he was reminded that he was unable to gaze upon his own beautiful face. To him, it remained accessible only in a reflection or on film. With effort, he could even twist around to look at his own backside, but never in his life would he see his actual face. His eyes, his lips, his cherub-like cheeks--those were for everyone else to see. Not him.   
  
How beautiful he must look to others!

Sighing, he pulled down his bottom eyelid, staring at the greying white part of his eye in the mirror. The sun would be setting; soon his eyes would be a black, starry void, disturbing to even the most experienced of wizards who had _seen things_ in their long lives.   
  
Roger supposed it _might_ be good that he could only see those eyes in a mirror.

It was a curse, Roger reminded himself. Not a bad one, as far as curses went. But the curse on his physical gender bothered him more than he let the others know, and now it seemed like there was no way out. Double-cursed. Forever. He could write a book.

Maybe that's how he'd make his wizard-billions.

His irises faded from yellow to grey to black. He looked like a monster. A monster with beautiful skin and flawless hair. And a sparkling, dazzling, winning smile that made the girls _swoon._

 _Note to self_ , he thought. _Look up what the word "swoon" actually means._

Would the girls still like him? Some would. Probably. Would anyone want to be with a girl who had the mind of a boy, though? Who was technically still a boy? Who never thought he'd have to worry about things of this nature?

"I need sleep," he muttered into the row of sinks. "I get too philosophical when I'm tired."

"Is that what you're doing?" asked a familiar voice from the bathroom door. It was open just a crack, one silver eye staring through. "Being philosophical, while staring at yourself in the mirror?"

"This is the men's room," Roger said.

"Oh, no one cares." Ivory pushed the door open and entered, hopping up on the vanity next to Roger. "D'you do this every night?"

"No," Roger said. He squished his nose up, watching the stars shift around in his eyes. "Not _every_ night. I'm just hoping it stops happening eventually."

"So you think if you stare at yourself every night, you can... Affect the outcome? Get a more favorable result?"

Roger rolled his eyes. Or, he would have rolled his eyes, if he had actual pupils to roll. "No. Of course not." _How did she know?!_

"Ah."

Roger hopped up on the sink, too, since he had nothing else better to do, and nowhere to be until astronomy class later that night. Even then, his participation couldn't be guaranteed; it all depended on how cold it was outside. He could argue that he could gaze at all the stars he wanted to in the mirror, anyway. "So of all the bathrooms in this school, you just happened to walk into mine?"

"No, that'd be silly," Ivory said. "It wasn't just chance. Your curse has a very unique scent, so I followed it. I needed to talk to you."

Roger narrowed his eyes. "Yeaaaaah. About that. Look, Brian says people can't just _smell magic."_

"Okay. Fair enough. How'd I find you, then?"

"Luck? Did you check every single bathroom in the school 'til you ran into me?"   
  
"No. And there's like three _hundred_ bathrooms. That would have taken hours."

"Ask John where I'd be at this time of day?"

"I did, but he told me he wasn't your keeper."

Roger scratched his chin. "Okay. Supposing I believe you. Supposing you can _smell curses._ How?"

Ivory said nothing at first, kicking her feet and looking at the floor. Roger had to admit, she was strange in a way he couldn't define. Kind of pretty, he thought, but too porcelain to be natural. He was proud of himself for not vocalizing those thoughts, though he found he didn't want to, anyway. She was nice. Sweet to John and sassy enough to stand up to him. And there was something about her...

"The only one who knows is Odin," she finally said. "If I tell you, you can't tell anyone else."

"What about John? And, y'know..." Roger shrugged. "Brian and Freddie?"

"You're gonna tell them no matter what I say, aren't you?"

Roger nodded.

"Fine. Fine, but that's all. Promise?"

It seemed more than fair. Roger nodded again.

Then, she didn't say anything.

Roger hated to rush her, but now he was dying to know. He elbowed her, and in return, she offered him a half-lidded stare of irritation and bare tolerance, broken by a lop-sided smile. "Two minutes ago you didn't believe me at all," she said.

"Is it a good story?" he asked.

She pressed her lips together, rolling her eyes in thought. "As far as traumatic pasts go, yeah, I suppose?"

"Oh, there's trauma, too? Should I get popcorn?"

Ivory smiled again, shaking her head. "You're a bit of an ass, aren't you?"

"Sometimes! C'mon, Ivory! Tell me!" Roger bounced in place, fully committed now. She had the perfect lead-in. Just enough mystery to make this an Oscar-winning screen play or something! He was _invested. Curious._ " _TELL ME!"_

"Shh! Fine, fine! But shut up, would you?"

Roger grinned.

She opened her mouth, ready to pour out what would surely be the best story Roger ever heard. There was enough hype for it, anyway. It had everything, he was sure. Trauma! Comedy! A redemption arc (he hoped!) Drama! Perhaps a scary sidequest where the hero--Ivory--had to rescue kittens from trees! He sat forward on the sink, waiting, waiting--

And then she said, "Can I ask you something first?"

As his excitement deflated, he fell forward off the sink, stumbling and catching himself on one of the stalls. "What?"

"Yeah, I want to ask you something first," she said, resting her chin on one delicate hand. "I need to know what you're planning to wear to the Quincentennial Ball."  
  


\---  
  


John didn't have many opportunities to be alone in their room, which meant he had to wait there for most of the day for his chance. And while he waited--as his friends came and went--All he could think about was how he very nearly killed Odin out of sheer anger, and would have, if not for Roger's stupid book.

Strangely, in John's mind, that was even the title: Roger's Stupid Book.

Something about anger management and counting to ten before losing your temper. That much, John remembered. That much probably saved Odin's life.   
  
John clenched his fists around the silky linings of his pockets. Could he have done it?

Well, he wouldn't give himself the opportunity to find out. Never again. A minute after Roger departed, leaving John alone in their room, he slid off his bed, sneaking on bare feet toward Brian's trunk.

He really didn't have to _sneak,_ he supposed. But the fact that he was about to steal something from his temporary housemate, who trusted everyone enough to leave his trunk unlocked... Well, it didn't sit right with John, even though he was the one doing the thieving.

Therefore, the sneaking.

Opening the trunk, John was surprised to find _Past Your Lessons: Volume Two_ right on top, as if Brian intended John to steal it all along. That was absurd, of course, though John offered a silent _thank you,_ since he wouldn't have to figure out how to put everything back in its proper order.

Still suspicious, he cast a simple spell to determine if there were any magical alarms on Brian's things.

There were not. John should have known.

He felt guilty, taking advantage of Brian's trust in such a way, but he figured the best curses--and hopefully a few that weren't deadly--would rest inside the pages of this restricted book, and others like it. Since he didn't have access to other books of this nature, this one would have to do.

Even though he'd checked for alarms, John carefully opened the dusty tome, ready to snap it shut again if it made even the tiniest peep. It was quiet, though, and soon John paged through it without worry, skipping over the plethora of spells that lacked what he needed.

He paused at the chapter containing the Role Reversal spell, but the final page was still missing. With a hopeless sigh, John turned the page.

The book contained some very interesting spells and potions, and even some runework, which never interested John much until he saw what one could truly do with it. Damn these _missing pages,_ though! Every time he found something promising, he'd run into a situation where half the spell was absent! Who would buy a book with so much information just _gone?_

As he suspected, most curses were debilitating things with questionable expirations. That's what John wanted to avoid, if at all possible. But there was one--A rune spell combined with some simple wandwork that forced a hapless victim to become stone. Not forever, but for a set amount of time, in increments of twenty-eight days.

And even though John already had the wand movements memorized, the exact combination of runes would be far more difficult to master. If nothing else, John excelled at following directions, though. If he studied this spell long enough, he could almost certainly master it.

It was the perfect spell--enough to teach someone a lesson, even while keeping them alive. Exactly what John was looking for.

He couldn't very well take the book, though. Brian would miss it.

But he wouldn't miss the _pages._ The book already lacked a good number of them. What was four more?

Taking out his wand, John cast a first-year severing spell meant to cut off a scroll at the conclusion of an essay. It also worked on books; aiming as close to the binding as he could, John ever-so-meticulously removed the pages. Even if Brian was looking, he wouldn't even be able to tell they were gone.

But he wouldn't look for them, John reminded himself with a frown. Brian was far too trusting.

And John betrayed that trust.

At least he felt guilty about it.  
  


\---  
  
  
Ivory sketched in a muggle notebook, with a muggle pencil.

Roger thought all Slytherins shunned muggle accoutrements, but Ivory seemed to know her way around art supplies like any other normal person would. She never once asked for an inkwell or a quill.

"Like this?" she asked. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew three more pencils: One red, one yellow, and one blue. Two of them she set next to her on the granite vanity top; the yellow one she held poised over the drawing.

"Yeah, that's good. And then the trim is all in yellow..."

"Is it yellow 'cuz you like yellow?" she asked. "Or is it because you're a Hufflepuff?"

"A bit of both, I think."

As Roger sat partially in the sink, looking over her shoulder, she scribbled in bits of gold wherever he indicated, then she took the black pencil and darkened the outlines, until the art showed a reasonable approximation of what he'd be wearing to the ball. Not perfect, but decent.

"It's not very feminine," Ivory said, tapping the pencil against her chin.

"Neither am I," Roger responded. "Anyway, I'm only wearing such a fancy dress robe 'cuz I lost a bet. Don't ever let your Quidditch team dare you to chug an entire mug of butterbeer in ten seconds. It can't be done."

"I'll keep that in mind." Ivory snapped the book shut and asked, "Who's doing your makeup?"

"What? Makeup?"

"Well, yeah. Look, Roger, men can wear makeup, too, and I think you ought to have a bit of fun, what with you being a girl and all right now."

He had to admit, the idea appealed to him, and he could almost certainly get away with it for the dance, with minimal ribbing from his friends. Besides, why should anyone tell him what kind of warpaint he was allowed to put on his face? Quidditch koal and eyeshadow were all the same, when one thought about it. "There's this girl, Amber, on my team. She can probably--"

"Good," Ivory said. "Well, I guess I'll be on my way, then."

"Wait! You can't!" Roger protested, but she hopped off the sink before he could finish his plea. He followed after, ready to chase her right out into the corridor for some sort of answer, only to find himself stepping on her heels when she came to an abrupt halt.

When she turned around, she arched her eyebrows, wearing an almost playful expression on her face. Roger sighed, relieved. "You know, if this was a novel, the people reading would _kill us_ if you didn't spill your secret. It's just been too long. Like, two chapters already. The readers need to know."

After slipping the notebook back into her pocket, she hopped back up on the vanity. "Who's to say we're not a book in some alternate reality?" she asked. "Someone's out there reading everything we do, turning the pages with wonder, guessing at all our motives..."

 _Finally,_ someone who understood! "Marry me?" he asked. "I don't have a ring, but I'm sure I can make one out of..." He looked around, but the house elves seemed to have scrubbed the bathroom spotless. "Well, I can make one, anyway. You'll just have to wait a bit."

"You wouldn't want to marry me," Ivory replied.

"Why?"

"My mum's a werewolf."

It took a moment for that to sink in, and then Roger realized... that was her secret. That was the big secret. It didn't make sense, though. "I mean, okay, that's... Dangerous?" he ventured. "But that's it? That's... That's _it?"_

"Nah, that's just the beginning," Ivory said. "Have a little faith, would you? You wanted a story, let me tell a bloody story!"

Roger leaned against the stall across from her, crossing his arms. "It's just, I thought you were gonna tell me your family was aliens or something. That woulda been cool. Werewolves are kinda passé."

Ivory screwed up her face, brows lowering. "Passé? Really?"

"No--Well--Okay, I'm making you mad, clearly. I'll just..." Roger drew his fingers across his lips, zipping them closed. "Mrmhhmhh."

"Was that 'go ahead'?"

He nodded.

"My mum was bitten before I was born--"

"Well that doesn't make any..." He trailed off when she shot him an arch look, and mimed zipping his lips again.

" _six months_ before I was born," she clarified.

Oh. _Oh!_

"Anyway, my dad's a spellfinder. That means he travels to the farthest reaches of the earth to find spells we Brits haven't discovered yet, then writes them down. My mum works with magical creatures. That's how she--Anyway, she was thirty-seven when I came along, and... They probably weren't going to have another chance."

"You have any brothers or sisters?" Roger asked.   
  
"No. And that's why it was so important that they find a way to keep me. They'd been talking about adoption, but then I happened... And they already... Well. They--"

"They loved you."

"They already had the room decorated. Slytherin greens and silvers, they said. I don't remember, of course, but that's what they tell me."

"Werewolves can't have kids, though," Roger said. "I mean, that's what we've been told."

"Well, that's the thing. If she would have shifted before I was born, it would have killed me. And they were willing to do anything to save me, so my dad... My dad knew this Maori settlement where they'd--well, these people had been working on a cure for lycanthropy for hundreds of years. They were far ahead of Britain in their research. They're the ones who came up with the wolfsbane potion."

The wolfsbane potion had made its way into their textbooks over the past few years. It was a miraculous concoction, one that could allow a werewolf to keep its mind even when it changed, rendering it _safe._ Well, as safe as a cursed monstrosity could be. They still had the teeth and claws and all. "If she shifted, she would have killed you, though," Roger said.

"Right. But these people--they found a way to keep a werewolf from shifting."

"No," Roger said. "If they'd figured that out, every werewolf would--"

"It's not just a perfect cure," Ivory interrupted. "It's not a cure at all. It's essentially drugging a werewolf just before the full moon with a lethal dose of wolfsbane. Enough to kill a human, but not a werewolf just hours from shifting. And then you _keep_ drugging her every day, seven days a week, keeping her unconscious and in--in agony--"

Her words tapered off as her pale eyes stared, unblinking.

"Ivory? You okay?" Roger asked.

"Yeah. Yeah I’m fine." She rubbed at her eyes. "While they were keeping my mum under, there was a healer constantly chanting over her, keeping me safe. They didn't know if it would work, but it did. I mean, of course it did. I'm here. But if you channel that much magic into a person... Well, I wasn't unaffected, as you can see."

"Smelling magic?"

She nodded. "Yeah, and I can feel the phases of the moon, like most werewolves."

"You don't change?"

"No. My mum does, but she's got the potion."

"Wow."

Ivory's smile was sad. "This one time I went home at Christmas, and she was--ah, you know. It's weird, too... I can smell the magic on her when she changes. Sometimes I think if I could just unravel that scent and find the threads of magic and how they all weave together, I could cure lycanthropy."

"You will one day," Roger said, and he meant it. "You're a real cool side character in this book, y'know. Neat story."

She rolled her eyes, laughing. "Side character!" she scoffed. "I'm the _main_ character. You're the weird Hufflepuff with the cursed eyes!"

Roger doubted he could _ever_ be a side character. Still, he said, "Fine, fine. And I won't tell anyone. Promise. I know how people are about werewolves."

"They don't have to be. That's the thing I hate most." This time, when Ivory hopped off the counter, she actually made it to the door, resting her hand on it. "With wolfsbane, they're practically harmless. Still, I appreciate it. At least I got a cool party trick out of the whole deal."

"But... Brian. You can't...?"

Ivory shook her head. "No. And I passed him in the hall on the way to class today, too. Nothing. Kinda weird. John and Odin think maybe he's immune to my ability. I guess some people must be."

Just as she opened the door, but before she disappeared, Roger asked, "What are you gonna do with that sketch of my robe?"

Ivory smiled, shrugged, and escaped into the corridor without a word.

\---

"Hey."

John glanced up from his pile of stolen pages, narrowing his eyes at Ivory. She had a suspicious grin on her face--one that didn't bode well for anyone, let alone John. Flipping the pages over, he set them on the couch next to him, and scowled. "How's Odin?"

"I saw him today," she said. "He's doing good. He can't remember what happened, but... Well, he probably won't ever. He'll be able to go to the ball, though. That's what Pomfrey says."

"Oh, he's going?" John asked.

"He'd better. I'm his date."

"Oh, right. Well, I'm just studying..."

"You'll have to stop for a minute." Ivory grabbed the pages and held them out of John's reach, even as he desperately grasped for them. She _could not see them._ No one could! Thankfully, she rolled them up and handed them back, sitting next to him without even peering at the contents. "You're a bit uptight, aren't you?"

With his heart threatening to leap through his chest, John stuffed the pages in his pocket. " _Yes._ Now go away."

"No, not yet. I heard you're going to the Quincentennial with that Hufflepuff, Taylor."

John bristled, wondering if he could pull off the damn curse on _himself._ Surely it wouldn't be so bad, being a living statue for the next few weeks. Then he could avoid the embarrassment of the ball altogether. Besides, he didn't need another lecture about how Hufflepuffs were bad, and how a proud Slytherin really ought to ask a proper pureblood to go to the dance with him. "Roger's my friend," he snarled through clenched teeth. "So if you don't mind--"

"What are you wearing?"

Well, that stopped his rant in its tracks. With his frustration completely derailed, all he could manage was, "Huh?"

"Wearing. To the ball," Ivory clarified. "I think I'm about your size..." Closing one eye, she gave him a once-over, then nodded. "Yeah, I can probably let you borrow something."

" _Girls' robes?!"_ John demanded. "I'm--I'm--No! I'm not wearing your robes!" He crossed his arms, pouting. After giving Ivory a good, thorough glaring, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the rolled up pages, just to shake them at her.   
  
"Why?"

"Because. Just... Because." He could feel himself turning red just thinking about it. On the other hand... Now that Ivory brought it up, it might not be _that bad._ He was still a girl. He'd be a girl at the Quincentennial...

"I have a few you might like. Nothing too fancy. They'd suit you. Besides, if you wear the robes you have, they're going to look ridiculous. They're meant for a boy."

"I don't care," John said. But he did, really. The more out of place he looked, the more attention he'd get. And a girl at the ball wearing ill-fitting boys' robes might draw attention. He wanted to blend in. Under his breath, he added, "I'm a boy."

"I know. In here." Ivory lay her hand over his heart, but he only let her keep it there for a moment before he wiggled out of her reach. She went on, undeterred, "But why not have a little fun with it, huh? Roger's wearing yellow, so... I've already sent an owl to Hogsmeade for a matching corsage. And even though I'm a Slytherin through and through..." she trailed off, sitting up straighter, "I do have a yellow dress robe. You'll be perfect together."

Despite himself, John smiled, imagining it with equal portions of embarrassment and intrigue. "We're not exactly a conventional couple." He shook his head. "We're not a couple at all."

"Imagine the look on his face when you show up in girls' robes."

He wasn't going to win this argument. Besides, he wasn't as uncomfortable with the idea as he should have been. "Fine. Okay. Fine."

Ivory squealed and leapt to her feet. "I _knew_ you'd say yes! This'll be perfect!" As she fled toward her dormitory, she called over her shoulder, "You won't regret it!"

John felt he was already regretting it.


	16. The Quidditch Quincentennial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment has arrived. Not that John's been eagerly waiting for it or anything. Besides. He feels positively ridiculous.

John felt... weird.   
  
Not bad. Just _off._ He couldn't say whether he liked it or not, but he certainly wasn't _neutral._ It's just that he'd never worn anything quite this fancy, and had certainly never worn girls' clothes before.

Nor had his hair ever been done up quite so elaborately. The same girls who wouldn't let him stay in the Slytherin dorms all immediately leapt at the opportunity to play with his long hair and make him just as beautiful as any of them. Honestly, as it was going on, John was torn between bitterness and a warm, calm acceptance; between an affection for his housemates and resentment for their prior dismissal.   
  
Ivory was with him the whole time, staunching his anxiety with silent approval, and assuring him that all would be fine.

Then, the girls dragged him to the mirror.

"You still haven't said anything," Ivory remarked as she led him toward the Great Hall.

John couldn't get the picture of the girl in the yellow dress out of his head. She was fae-like. Beautiful. Decorated with just enough makeup to draw out her elegance, but not so much as to look ridiculous. A sparkling train woven from tiny, pearlescent beads stretched from her shoulders to her waist, granting the appearance of wings, set against the silken amber of expensive robes.

And she was _him._ She was John.

He stopped, looking down at the hem of the robe, which just brushed the floor. Sticking his foot out, he eyed his own black dress shoe; none of the girls' shoes would fit. It was the only blight on the whole ensemble.

Ivory offered him an encouraging smile. "We can go back. It's okay."

John shook his head. He was committed now. "No. I wouldn't have gotten this far if I didn't want to."

"You look good."

John managed a half-smile. "I know. That's the problem."

"Well, here. If we're doing this--and I'm glad we are..." She pulled what looked like a sparkly dragon's egg out from under her arm, opening it at a split just in the middle. Inside, delicate and just slightly dewy, sat a single yellow rose surrounded by greenery and some tiny white buds.

"What's that?" John asked.

She held open an elastic band and said, "For your wrist. It's a corsage."

"I'm supposed to wear flowers, too?"

"Well, Roger's supposed to get this for you, but he won't," Ivory said. "He's not expecting..." She ended the statement with a smile, and tied a lighter yellow ribbon around John's arm, securing the thing in place. "He should have at least come to pick you up."

"A Hufflepuff in the Slytherin dungeons," John said.

"Good point," Ivory replied.

"Besides, he's a Chaser. He had to be here early."

The whole point of the _Quidditch_ Quincentennial was to celebrate Quidditch, after all, and every member of every team would have arrived in the Great Hall to schmooze some of the big names of the sport. Freddie was excited about meeting some of the Harpies players, for example, and had even unabashedly mentioned his jealousy that Roger got to meet them all _first._

Ivory held the door open for him. He hesitated.

"You going in?" she asked.

John, desperate to delay, said, "You're very pretty, too." Her white robe melded almost seamlessly with her silver hair, and her showier makeup brought out the slight purple-blue of her eyes.

"Thank you. But you're stalling."

"What was your first clue?"

"Come _on,_ John!" she said, taking his arm and leading him in. Pulling him aside, out of the trickle of the other early-arrivers coming through the door, Ivory turned her attention to those already there. "Now we just need to find your date."

"He's not a date. He's a... A convenient..."

"Date," Ivory finished. "Call it what it is, John."

He sighed.

"Now, I know he's cute," Ivory went on, squinting, searching among the rainbow of robes. "But I'm not used to seeing him all trussed up... Ah. There. See?" She took John's shoulder and turned him a bit. "The blond ponytail, over with the rest of the Hufflepuff team."

 _Right._ There were other people here, who would ultimately recognize him in his ethereal robes, with his made-up face, and with his intricately styled hair. It was something John knew deep down, but not an aspect of the dance he'd really considered until this very moment, as he stared at Roger socializing effortlessly among his housemates. They laughed and pointed. Roger practically glowed in the spotlight of their gentle ridicule.

 _How could he do it?_ How could he let himself be the center of attention?

John took a step back.

"We can still leave," Ivory assured him. "But I think it'll be okay." She rested a hand on his shoulder, and he was glad for the contact. "I have to go get Odin. You can come with me, or you can stay. But I'll be back in a little while, and your friends'll be here soon, I think? So you won't be alone."

He could do it, John realized. Despite his stage fright, part of him felt perfectly at ease. "It's all right," he said.

Ivory nodded, then gave him a little push. "Go on, then, John. I'll be right back."

And then she was gone.

And John was alone.

Well, not really. There were dozens of other students already here, though they were mostly Quidditch players. Some of them even wore their team robes rather than dressing for the occasion, though even more wore shimmering robes of all colors. A few students and a handful of professors were setting up tables and levitating decorations into the ponderous empty space above their heads.   
  
And a band tuned its instruments up on stage. Freddie was all excited over them for some reason, though at the moment, John couldn't even recall their name. One of them stepped up to tap a small silver box on a stand, which caused a low _thump_ to reverberate through the hall.

A microphone, John recalled. Some sort of muggle thing for projecting your voice. This one must have been magic-powered.

John still technically _could_ escape. Roger hadn't seen him yet, and the door behind him was wide open. No one was standing in his way. He could just find an empty classroom somewhere and hunker down for a couple hours before sneaking back to his dorm.

But then he'd feel bad for abandoning Roger.

Grumbling to himself, John shuffled forward.

His "date" -- if one could call Roger a date -- sat perched up on one of the refreshment tables, heedless of a masked server's endeavors to shoo him off. Throwing his head back, he took one last swig of punch from what looked to be a cup made out of muggle plastic, then tossed the cup onto the floor, where it immediately evaporated into a thin mist and disappeared.

Clever.

In any case, Roger still looked much like himself, although with his black and gold dress robes on, he was much prettier. John might even mistake him for a girl in passing, if he didn't know the truth. Someone had done his makeup, too, though that was mostly just to cover the dark circles under his eyes. For the first time since John cursed him, Roger looked well-rested.

Of course, being that it was dark outside now, Roger's eyes were also creepily black.

"Well, you look good, Rog," one of the other Hufflepuffs laughed. "Never thought I'd see you in a dress."

"Dress _robe,_ Calvin, _"_ Roger corrected, winking. "And I told you I was pretty. I think you owe me a sickle."

"I didn't say you were pretty." 

Roger batted his eyes. "Am I?"

Calvin rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "I got a sickle in my room," he said. As he turned half away, he said over his shoulder, "I'll catch a dance with you later. You promised!"

"Fine, fine," Roger said. "Later. Now hurry up and get outta here. Don't want my date to run into your ugly mug."

Calvin shoved Roger hard enough that he slid right off the table. They both laughed, before Calvin finally wandered off.

John couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy at their play, because no Slytherin would ever act like that. They didn't have that camaraderie or that level of comfort with one another like the other houses all seemed to share. Sometimes it was even hard to tell that Slytherins were friends with other Slytherins.

"What're you lookin' at?" Roger asked.

John blinked. "Me?"

Roger nodded. John saw a complete lack of recognition in his eyes.

The cold detachment was eerie. Almost surreal. And in that moment, John made the best decision in his young life: he ran with it.

Because he was invincible. In a disguise. Untouchable and unreachable. Unknown. Right then, he felt his bravery, and it emboldened him. Even with as much as he hated his predicament, John would never regret what he did next.

He hopped up on the table next to Roger. "You look like you're having fun," he said.  
  
Roger narrowed his eyes a bit. "Are you on one of the Quidditch teams? You're here early--"

"Nah."

Roger scratched his chin. "Actually, I'm meeting someone here, so if you could just--"

"Who?"

"Who?" Roger repeated, looking past John, toward the door.

"Yeah."  
  
Irritated now, Roger edged away, scowling. "What difference does it make who it is?"

John couldn't help a half smile. "Is it another Hufflepuff? Your date?"

Honestly, Roger should have seen through the ruse at that point, because John could _not be subtle._ But Roger was still looking at the door, purposely ignoring John as he answered, "No, he's a Slytherin, actually."

"A Slytherin, really?"

"Mm-hm."

"Kind of a jerk, then?" John asked. "Too bad there. I'm sorry."

Roger looked right at him. Right into his eyes, and still didn't recognize him. "Oh, you don't know anything, do you? Go on. Get out of here. 'Kind of a jerk,' really!"

"I've been called worse." John shrugged.

Still not getting it, Roger muttered, "If the shoe fits..."

"Roger."

" _What?!"_

John smiled. Arched his eyebrows.

And then it _still_ took a few seconds before realization dawned on Roger's comically surprised face. It made the dress and the hair and even the makeup all worth it.

Almost in awe--as if he didn't believe it--Roger whispered, "John?"

Just slightly embarrassed now, John looked away. He _hated_ being stared at, as fun as it was to pull one over on Roger for once. Managing a smile, he slid off the table to his feet, facing Roger. He nodded.

"Oh. Oh, wow. You're--I'm sorry, you probably don't want to--uh. But I mean, you--With the dress and--and the--you're _really pretty."_

"Prettier than you?"

"For once, yeah!" Roger finally smiled. "We'll have to get a picture! 'cuz when we're all cured, no one's ever going to believe it. I mean, _I_ can't believe... I half thought you'd ditch me, you know? I was hoping you'd come, but... But I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't, I guess."

"I said I'd be here," John said. As more people filed in, he looked for his other friends. "We should find Freddie and Brian..."

"Wait," Roger said, reaching for John's wrist. He stared into John's eyes with a look bordering on wonder, despite the current lack of pupils. Transfixed, he babbled over several syllables before managing "Can--can I--"

"Spit it out, Roger."

" _Can I kiss you?"_

Well, out of all the things John could have imagined Roger to say in that moment, that ranked among the least likely. Frowning, John stared. "Rog, I'm still John."

Roger let go of his wrist. "I--I know. It's stupid. Sorry, John. You're just... Wow." He took a deep breath, running his hands over his styled hair and pulling a few blond strands out of order. "I'm sorry. Really, I am."

He looked so hopeful and nervous and unguarded, like John had never seen him before. And it must have hurt in some regard, knowing your crush was your best friend, and definitely not a girl at all.

"Uh..." Roger went on. "You're not mad? Are you? You aren't gonna curse me?"

"Not today," John mused. Then, "Sure, you can."  

"Can? I--really?"

"Might as well, right?" John asked. He honestly couldn't find any reason against it. "I'm guessing you won't want to once things are put right again."

 _If_ they were put right again.

Roger smiled, abashed. "Ah, yeah, you're not my type. Usually. No offense."

"Well, go on, then. Before I change my mind."

Roger batted his eyes again. "Oh, so very romantic!"

" _Roger!"_  

"Don't rush me! I'm nervous!"

Awkwardly--so _very awkwardly_ \--Roger rested his hands on John's shoulders. A few seconds of staring commenced before John, uncomfortable again, averted his gaze. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he found it absolutely incredible that he could allow his best friend to kiss him in the middle of what was becoming a crowded hall, but meeting his eyes at such a close range made him flinch.

Neither of them had any idea what to do.

"John" Roger said.

Automatically, John looked up again. Roger leaned in, hesitantly at first, their noses just an inch apart.

John smiled. "Go on, then," he whispered.

Roger turned his head just a little, closed his eyes, and then met John's lips with his own.

The kiss only lasted a couple seconds, during which John waited for some spark to catch him; for some fireworks to go off in his mind. In the end, though, he felt nothing except the blatantly physical contact, the unappealing scent of Roger's breath, and the squish of his friend's lips against his.

Kissing, John decided, was a great waste of time.

But when Roger leaned back, he wore a dazed smile. Somewhere in the whole process, his hand had found its way to John's hip; as soon as he realized it, Roger snapped it away as he stepped backward, his face turning all sorts of interesting shades of scarlet. "Okay, yeah, kissing is pretty great," he managed. 

Incredulous, John arched an eyebrow. "I was your first kiss? What an interesting choice."

"Tell me about it," Roger muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, you didn't have to do that. It--Well. Thanks for humoring me."

Then, "Did you _see that,_ Brian?!" Freddie demanded, bouncing on his feet. "That was beautiful! Truly!"

"I saw," Brian replied, crossing his arms, grinning. "I feel like a voyeur. Should we leave?"

John froze as if he'd been hit with a _petrificus totalus_ spell, his face heating up like it was on fire. Roger, though, slowly turned around with an easy smile on his face, reaching out to take John's hand in the process. He stared down his nose at the other two, quipping loftily, "You're just jealous 'cuz I've got the prettiest bloke here."

Freddie gave John a once-over and elbowed Brian. "He's right, you know."

John still couldn't move. He couldn't speak.

Brian rolled his eyes. "Well, look what you've done now," he said, gesturing at John. "You've broken him. You both ought to be ashamed of yourselves."

"Oh, dear," Freddie said, chuckling. "Was I singing? Is he not immune anymore? I really don't recall--"

"F--fuck you, Freddie," John squeaked.

"There he is!" Roger said. "That _language,_ though! Where _does_ he learn it? Not from me, that's for fuckin' sure."

"Rog," Brian sighed.

John finally relaxed enough to tear his hand out of Roger's, and threw a good scowl in the Hufflepuff's direction for good measure. Unaffected, Roger grinned in return.

In an attempt to take the attention off himself, John said to Brian, "You're wearing your own robes." He gestured at the boys' dress robe, which still looked nice enough. At least seemed as if Brian had altered it enough so that it fit properly.

For just a moment, Brian looked uncomfortable. "Well, I couldn't write my parents to send me a proper robe," he said. "They're uncomfortable with all this magic stuff to begin with. So if I were to--" Trailing off, he shook his head.

"And Brian's so tall that he couldn't find anyone else with a robe that fit," Freddie giggled, leaning against Brian's shoulder.

"Hey, at least I'm not in something like that atrocity _you're_ wearing!" Brian snapped, with his hands on his hips. "Freddie sent his sister an owl, and _this_ was what she sent back!"

Freddie's robes were bright pink. Possibly the brightest pink ever made, and _probably_ enhanced with magic to the point where they seemed to glow. As if that weren't enough, the trim along the bottom was a gaudy orange, which rivaled even the brightness of the sun. The whole ensemble sparkled in the torchlight and made John feel positively homely in comparison.

"Atrocity, he says!" Freddie huffed. "I'll have you know, I _asked_ for this very color, and my sister delivered. It's perfect. Absolutely perfect." He whirled around; the robe split at a few hidden pleats, revealing the eye-bruising purple lining within.

"Oh, _Merlin,"_ Brian muttered.

"It's _something_ ," Roger agreed.

"It's not my fault if I'm oblivious to fashion," Freddie said with an irritated flick of his wrist. "I know what colors I admire, and I'm going to put them all together in one robe if I like. You all should learn to do the same. Bunch of dull sots, you are. Now go on." He pushed between them, even though he was perfectly capable of walking around. "Out of my way. I'm going to go find a handsome Gryffindor, and make him dance with me."

He tossed his hair and paraded away. Brian followed. "Oi! Fred! I'm your date! You'll make me jealous!"

"I think I'll need sunglasses if I'm ever gonna look at Freddie again," Roger said, rubbing his eyes.

They meandered around for lack of anything better to do. Now and then, Roger would comment on the decorations, or John would subtly wish he was elsewhere. As the band stopped tuning and began to play in earnest, John felt compelled to ask, "Can you actually dance?"

"No," Roger said. "You?"

John shook his head, and Roger laughed, adding, "I did promise Calvin a dance later, though. Hope he likes his feet stepped on."

"Well, I'm all right with being a wallflower if you are." John's shoulders relaxed in relief. Truthfully, he _could_ dance. All proper pure-blooded children knew how. That didn't mean he wanted to dance _with Roger._

Especially because most of the school--along with a few notable Quidditch stars--now milled about in the Great Hall, causing the expanse to shrink in on itself. The last thing John needed was for his housemates to see him dancing with a Hufflepuff.

Not that he was embarrassed about Roger.

Well, he was, but he'd admitted such to Roger, and Roger didn't blame him, what with the exploding schoolwork he often caused.

It was more that he was embarrassed to be seen at all. Even though dressing up and surprising Roger created a hilarious memory John wouldn't soon forget, he still struggled with a deep discomfort he couldn't shake.

"They're amazing," Roger said.

John startled, drawn out of his thoughts. "Huh?"

"The Quidditch players. The real ones. There's a few of 'em here, but they're kinda... _surrounded._ I got to meet 'em briefly, but there wasn't much time to talk. _"_

He nodded toward a cluster of people, tightly knotted together as they fought through each other to get to the prize in the middle. It was a person, John supposed, although with all the students in flashy robes surrounding them, John couldn't be sure.

It's how he imagined a fight over a carcass would go, were they all vultures on the African Savanah.

Even as they all pressed in around the poor star in the center, though, one boy broke from the pack, stumbling over his feet for a moment until he managed to right himself. Grinning from ear to ear, he searched the hall until his eyes fell on Roger.

"Rog! Rog, Rog, _Roger!"  
  
_Calvin popped up between them, bouncing on his toes with uncontained excitement. Before Roger could even respond, he blurted: "Clair Cairns just arrived! And she _wants to meet you._ "

John did know a few of the popular Quidditch players of their time, and Cairns registered as a familiar name. Though if someone were to ask John what team she was on, or what position she played, he might struggle a bit.

Roger definitely knew, though. His face went white as he asked, "Why?"

"Because of that game versus Gryffindor, mate!" Calvin apparently noticed John for the first time, held out his hand, and asked, "Have we met?"

"It's _John,_ Cal," Roger said, pushing Calvin's hand away. "Refresh my memory. What happened in the Gryffindor game--?"

Calvin looked John over again. "John? Really? The Slytherin?"

Patiently, John nodded.

"Focus, Cal!" Roger took his shoulders and gave him a good shake. "What happened in the--"

"You switched from chaser to beater," Calvin interrupted. "She does the same thing. She's--"

"Known for it," Roger finished. "Holy _shit._ Uh. Okay." He paced, nervous, his hands clasped behind his neck. "John? You wanna come with me?"

John glanced toward the herd. No. He'd much rather stay here on the outskirts, where it was relatively safer. "Nah, I'm going to get something to drink. I'll see you later."

"Come _on,_ " Calvin said, grabbing Roger's wrist and dragging him away.

It was just as well, John thought. He preferred to be alone and away from the scrutiny of the rest of the school--even his friends. At least all dressed up as he was, he could hide in plain sight.

As he made his way toward the refreshment tables, he did offer a quick wave to Ivory and Odin, who seemed to be trying to get people to stop wandering aimlessly and start dancing. They were having _some_ success, though John certainly wouldn't be joining them. Actually, now that he was sure he wouldn't be missing anything grand, he'd probably find a way to duck out early and get back to the room he shared with his friends.

And at least nothing embarrassing had happened.

So he'd have some punch, check on Brian and Freddie, then make his way out and be asleep before anyone could miss him.

Roger's nagging voice popped into his head: Were this a novel, written on the backs of paper napkins on, say, _a train_ , your best laid plans would be smashed before your eyes. Broken into a million pieces. Eviscerated like a Merlin-damned zebra amid a throng of starving lions.

Admittedly, John did feel the tiniest sense of foreboding as he accepted a plastic-like goblet from one of the masked servers behind the table.

But that was all very silly and not the least bit realistic. Roger was far too genre-savvy for his own good, with all those fantasy novels he read in his spare time. Maybe if he studied his textbooks with as much vigor as he absorbed fiction, he'd worry much less about things exploding.

John chuckled to himself as he leaned on a decorative half-column and sipped his punch.

He felt a stirring of something in the back of his mind, which he only realized due to the complete absence of such a feeling before. Quite suddenly, it was as if a switch was flipped on; he _remembered,_ with clarifying detail, just how beautiful--

No, that was wrong.

He shook his head. In the pit of his stomach, the punch roiled with a painful heat, spreading through him like acid. It was all he could think about. Those dark eyes. _Those dark eyes._

Maybe he had a bit of an advantage over other people, since the abrupt change of perspective would have been much more subtle for people who were used to _feeling things_ for others. Almost dizzy--giddy, even--John took his cup and stumbled over to Ivory.

It's all he could think of to do.

Unable to manage the words, he held the punch out to her. Her feet stopped moving. The world spun beneath him.

"John, are you okay?"

Odin.

Ivory sniffed at the cup, then flung it away as if she'd been burned. The plastic--and the punch within--evaporated into mist and disappeared. "John? Where'd you get this?" she asked.

He gestured toward the punch bowl.

Thankfully, the discomfort abated. Perhaps the potion hidden in the punch failed after all. Maybe you had to be unaware of its presence for it to affect you. John felt completely normal, stepping out of the way as Ivory and Odin rushed past him to get to the masked server, who took off at a run just as soon as he realized he'd been marked.

Everything was fine. Everything was normal. Everything was--

He had to get to Roger.

Of course, John had let Roger go--a stupid thing to do, really. He should have kept the Hufflepuff close. Out of danger. With as many curses as John knew, he could protect them both until the end of time.

Everything was fine.

Fine.

Fine.

He shuffled toward the stage. Unhindered, he stumbled up the stairs, only one thing on his mind. One very important thing. Earth-shaking. World-ending.

He shoved the lead singer away from the microphone, which thumped and squealed with magical feedback. The band ceased, and everyone in the Great Hall stared up at John as he wavered on his feet, trying to stay upright. He could do it. Everything was fine.

"Excuse me," he drawled. His voice echoed from every wall. "I'm--I'm looking for Roger Taylor. If he could just--"

No, that was wrong.

Raising his voice, and causing the microphone to squeal again in protest, he shouted, "I'm looking for the love of my life!"


	17. Puppy Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's been drugged!

Freddie had a way with voices. Not just in using his own--for good, he hoped, rather than evil--but in recognizing the specific timbre of others. It was, he supposed, a siren thing, and made perfect sense with siren physiology. Know your victims, as it were.   
  
He did not, however, recognize the pleading desperation on stage that was John Deacon.  
  
It took a couple more seconds; Freddie actually chuckled and rolled his eyes as he lazily waltzed himself and his partner around so he could see the stage. A smattering of laughter rose from the crowd as the lead singer of Wizard's Crow made a grab for the microphone, but the petit, lovestruck girl in the yellow dress danced just out of his way.   
  
"Rog?! Roggie--" The microphone squealed as the girl ran into the bass player. "No--let me--"

"Come on, kid!" the frontman pleaded. "Get off the stage!"

That's when the color drained from Freddie's face. It wasn't just _some girl._ It was John.

"What the _hell...?_ " Freddie muttered.  
  
The Gryffindor boy around which Freddie was draped muttered a "Mm?" of passive curiosity. He tried to turn a bit to look over his shoulder at the stage, but Freddie grabbed his face, squishing the poor kid's cheeks between his palms. "Nope. Don't look. Don't."

"But _Freddie..."_ he protested. "Something's--"

Despite Freddie's best efforts, the boy escaped him and turned.

Damn.

The lead singer managed to get the microphone away from John, holding the whole thing--stand and all--high above his head. Undeterred, John leapt for it and nearly stumbled right off the stage. The laughter grew uproarious.

Leaving his wonderful, warm, handsome Gryffindor behind, Freddie wove among the crowd, which pressed closer and closer together now that they had a show to witness on the stage. Getting to John would be difficult, but Freddie had to run interference before everyone realized who the girl was. If they did, the embarrassment might just kill the poor, shy Slytherin.

"What the hell are you doing, darling?" Freddie grumbled to himself as he ducked between two gossiping Ravenclaws.   
  
Just as John aimed a kick at the frontman's shins, Freddie reached the steps leading onto the stage. Across from him, at the base of the steps on the other side, Brian stared at the fiasco with a look of mystified disgust plastered on his face.   
  
As the lead singer doubled over to grab his injured leg, John whisked the microphone away from him. It squealed again, a current of magical purple waves meandering down the stand and out into the crowd.

"Roger!" John shouted. "Where are you? _Roger!"_

Just after the ensuing laughter, Freddie called over to Brian, " _Get him!"_

As if they were of one mind, they both rushed the stage. Brian, who was much taller than Freddie, managed to wrest the microphone away from John, pressing it into the hands of the guitarist and out of John's reach. The audience roared with delight, though the glee turned into a jeer when Freddie wrapped his arms around John's waist and started dragging him toward the stairs.

"Don't go!" Someone called.  
  
"It's the most entertaining show of the night!" Someone else said.

John struggled. Looking out into the crowd, Freddie saw McGonagall and Hagrid trying to get through the mob of students, but they weren't making much headway.

And the whole time, even as Brian joined Freddie to help carry their friend from the stage, John went on, blathering about Roger.

"What's wrong with him?" Brian asked as they managed to get John to the floor.

"Hell if I know, dear," Freddie growled through his teeth. "John! If you settle down, I'll take you to him! I'll take you to Roger!"

John immediately went limp in Freddie's arms, much like a doll made entirely out of old rags, with no stuffing whatsoever. "Oh, _put your feet down,_ you absolute seasponge," Freddie demanded.

John complied, albeit with a shrill "Where's Roger?"

"We'll get there. John, what's wrong? What happened?" Brian took John's shoulders, staring him in the eye. Looking past the Slytherin's shoulders, he said, "It's hard to see in here, but his pupils are huge."

"You think someone gave him something?" Freddie asked.

The music started playing again, and the amused crowd disbursed into less of a tightly-packed mob. Hagrid finally caught up with them, towering above. "What's wrong wi' 'er?" he asked.

"Not sure, professor," Brian said. "We'll get... We'll get _her_ somewhere safe."

It was probably wise not to confuse the issue at the moment. John looked like a girl. Hagrid didn't recognize him. Best to stick to the best apparent pronouns.

"See that y'do," Hagrid muttered. He turned and tromped off, back toward the refreshments across the hall.

"The teachers are awfully lax when a student's been drugged, aren't they?" Brian asked.

"Where's Roger?" John said.

Freddie ignored him. "Drugged, you think? A love potion?"

"Stands to reason." Brian guided them toward the door. The few people in their way moved, though they spared an amused look for the amorous Slytherin slouched between his two friends. "What else would make John proclaim his love for _Roger_ of all people?"

"I _do--_ love..." John trailed off, his eyes narrowing. "Guys, I feel weird."

"Well, he's kept a bit of sense," Freddie observed.

Although every ounce of John's teaspoon of sense went out the window as soon as Roger appeared, shoving open the Great Hall's door and skipping into the corridor. Immediately, John resumed his struggling; it took all Freddie's strength--with Brian's help--to hold onto the besotted Slytherin. They might have calmed him down again, too, had John not sunk his teeth into Freddie's arm.

"What'd you let go of 'im for?!" Brian demanded as John took off at a love-fueled gallop, heedless of the other students in his way.

"He _bit me!_ " Freddie rubbed his arm, wincing as the greenish blood seeped from the wound. Supposing that he'd never have another chance to wear his gaudy gown, he used a sharp nail to rip at the fabric at the hem of one sleeve, tearing off a strip long enough to wrap around his arm several times. The fabric hissed on contact, a trail of steam wafting into the air.  
  


\---

  
The closer Ivory got to the refreshments, the more her stomach turned.

"Got something?" Odin asked, and she nodded.   
  
They called her "Bloodhound" her first year, but even though it hurt, the comparison fit. After all, she could trace a source of magic like a dog tracking a fox. Never mind that she'd never been around so much magic before she attended Hogwarts. And never mind that the assault to her senses nearly drove her crazy before October. Her Slytherin classmates found it _hilarious._  
  
That's why she sought comfort with friends in other houses. That's why John Deacon was so important to her. That's why she'd defend him until the day they all went their separate ways, and maybe even after that, too.  
  
Closer. Closer. She could see the server watching her through his mask.   
  
Leaning over the table, she inhaled sharply, the stench nearly making her lose the contents of her stomach.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing, Sable?" Mike asked, turning to Alcor. "She's batty as ever. Go on, then--"

Hopping onto the table, Ivory sent stacks of cups tumbling in all directions. The ones that reached the floor disappeared in a puff of mist. The punch bowl sloshed, sending droplets of fizzy liquid flying in all directions.

Swinging around, Ivory dropped onto the platform on the other side of the table, ripped Mike's mask off, and tossed it to the side.

"What--" Mike tried again. Mikael Rune, with his mouth ever flapping, always had noise to make, but nothing to say. Ivory aimed a kick for his knee; he exclaimed an epithet full of shock and anger while collapsing to the floor. Alcor took off running.

When Odin started after him, Ivory said, "Wait."

He waited.

She inhaled again as Mike continued to wheedle out weak abuses, his eyes full of tears. His hands stunk, but of course it wasn't there. He wasn't holding it, obviously--his palms were open, facing upward in a gesture of irritated surrender. Concentrating, she followed the scent to his shoe and pulled if off. A vial tumbled out, followed by a scrap of paper. Ivory nearly doubled over when the odor reached her nose.

"Odin, go tell the Headmistress he's been using love potions," Ivory instructed. Odin nodded and hurried away.

And she placed her sharp heel _just so,_ directly between his legs, pressing just hard enough so that he knew she meant business. "If you follow me..."   
  
His eyes widened. He nodded.  
  


\---

  
With John careening at him like the Hogwarts Express at full speed, Roger had no choice but to assume he did something terrible and cover his head in an attempt to save his own life.

Imagine his confusion and surprise, then, when John wrapped his arms around him in what could only be described as a _tender embrace._ The Slytherin made a noise that sounded like desperation or lust--Roger couldn't describe which, nor could he decide which one was worse.

"John?" he asked.   
  
"It's all right. It's all okay now," John said.

A flush crept up Roger's neck and into his cheeks as he stared. John only wiggled closer, pressing the top of his head under Roger's chin. "Uh..." Roger managed. Tearing his eyes away from his beautiful friend, he looked up at Freddie and Brian for answers.  
  
All Freddie could do--while rubbing a hastily bandaged arm--was shake his head. "He started acting odd," he said. "Just got up on stage and..."   
  
Roger pressed his lips together. "I heard. I heard. Trust me."

"Yes. Well." Brian crossed his arms. "Now we've got _this_ to deal with."

"I'm fine," John slurred, opening his eyes only long enough to reassure the others. It failed to reassure.

In a way, Roger _wanted this._ Ever since they all changed, these thoughts crept into his daydreams with every irresponsible lapse into boredom. In his classes. While lying awake in bed at night. While _kissing his best friend._

But John wouldn't want this, and anyone who saw this display of affection would know something was wrong. "You think it's a potion?" Roger asked.

"It's a fair bet," Brian replied. "Given the... suddenness. C'mon, John."   
  
Brian wrapped his arms around John's middle and tugged. If anything, it only made John cling to Roger even more tightly, as beads of sweat began to form on Roger's forehead. The heat would kill him if someone didn't do something.

Despite the ache in his heart--and in other places--Roger worked his hand under John's grasp and painstakingly lifted each of the Slytherin's fingers until Brian could pry him free. Immediately, Freddie pinned John's arms to his sides and held on, despite all of John's struggling.  
  
"Make sure you keep away from his _teeth,"_ Freddie snapped.   
  
Ah, that explained the bandage.

"Lemme go!" John growled. He twisted around in a full circle and headbutted Freddie directly in the face. Freddie staggered backward, clutching his nose.

"Whoa. _Whoa!"_ Brian exclaimed. "John, you can't--"

He already had his hands wrapped around Roger again, grinning in blissful contentment. If he was a cat, he'd even be purring. "Guys..." Roger tried. "I'm a little... ah. Uncomfortable?"

Neither Freddie nor Brian were paying attention, though. Freddie was doubled over, green goo leaking from between his fingers and hissing as it melted the dust on the flagstone floor. Freddie held out one hand, keeping Brian at a distance. "A moment, please," Freddie said, as calmly as ever, as if his nose weren't pouring acid onto his abomination of a dress, sizzling as it disintegrated the fabric.

Apparently, Roger would have to deal with his lovestruck friend all on his own. "John? Uh. Dear?"

"Mm-hm?" John muttered.

"I'm a little... Uncomfortable. Could you...?"

John, usually an expert at all matters concerning an excess of personal space, did precisely nothing.

"Uh," Roger tried again. "Guys?"

"Why isn't it burning _you?"_ Brian asked, ignoring Roger. "Can't I help?"

"Well, it's inside me, darling." Freddie pinched his nose, wincing. His nasally voice made him sound even more pompous than ever. "It would make sense that it wouldn't burn _me."_

"Right, right," Brian agreed. "Is it stopping?"

"Soon, I think. Holy _hell,_ John hits hard when he wants something. Rog?"

"I'm okay!" Roger's voice rose to an almost comically high note. "I'd like to crawl in a hole at the moment, but I think I'm all right!"

"Good. Oh, dear. I saw stars for a second." Standing, Freddie poked gingerly at his nose. Yellow-green blood continued to run from it, but much more slowly. Rubbing his hands on his dress, he leaned down next to John, braving the possibility of another strike to the face. Slowly, as if speaking to a child, he said, "John, dear, you're making Roger uncomfortable. Perhaps you can hold hands instead."  
  
Elated with the very idea, John hurried to comply, releasing Roger and taking one hand in both of his. He held the hand to his face, cuddling that, instead.

"Oh, he's going to hate me later," Roger worried. "Do people _remember_ what they do under a love potion?"

"Yes. Unfortunately," Brian said.

"Great." Roger sighed. At least he could somewhat ignore the hand-holding. It still made him ache, but not quite with the same intensity as before.

"Something's wrong," John said, his voice just as dreamy as before. "Something's..."

He trailed off in a daze, still cuddling Roger's hand to his face.

"See? He's still got a bit of sense." Freddie wrinkled his nose, eyes crossing as he tried to look at it. "Prob'ly 'cuz he's never felt this way before."

Roger gave John a soft tug, like leading a dog on a leash. John followed behind, disturbingly obedient. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he told me, didn't he?" Freddie said. "He told me he didn't like anyone. He wasn't interested in anyone. Imagine feeling _nothing_ your whole life, then _wham._ Hit by a love potion."

"It's not a potion," John muttered.

"It is, darling," Freddie said. "Just look at yourself!"

"Don't be so hard on him," Brian said. "You know as well as I do that you can't just escape the effects of a love potion. You'd have to have the sort of willpower Harry Potter has. D'you know it's said he could escape the Imperius Curse?"

"Well, I'd believe it." Freddie shrugged. "If the killing curse couldn't kill him, surely the Imperius Curse wouldn't do anything, either."

"He played Quidditch, you know!" Roger said. He paused to unravel John's arm from around his chest. "A seeker. He was good at it, too. Wish he'd went on to play professionally. I coulda met him tonight. Bet he'd be here."   
  
"What about me?" John demanded, a dangerous edge in his voice.

Jealousy.

From John.   
  
And All Roger could think of to say--mostly to save his own ass--was "Harry Potter who?"

John smiled again, content.

Footsteps approached from behind, clacking on the floor in a quick, even tempo. Ivory rounded the corner a moment later, her face purple from the effort of catching up with them. Without even attempting a greeting, she pressed some object into Brian's hand and took several steps back, gasping for breath as she did so. "Merlin," she hissed. "It _stinks._ That's it. That's what he took."   
  
"Were you holding your breath?" Freddie asked. "Dear, you can't--"   
  
Ivory gagged, taking a couple more steps back. "God, it's foul." She coughed, leaning on the cool stone wall.

Brian unrolled the slip of paper, turning it this way and that. Hesitantly, he held it up to his nose. "Like feet?" he asked.

Roger seized the opportunity to liberate the paper from him.

"Love potions," Ivory said, covering her nose with the sleeve of her robe. "You can't know. Just... trust me. It's terrible. The most foul-smelling magic there is. They should be banned."  
  
"'Puppy-Love Potion,'" Roger read. "'A Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes specialty. Guaranteed guffaws sure to liven up any party. A prank worthy of princes. Delight your friends and... Embarrass your enemies.' Who did this?"

"Mike Rune," Ivory said.

John, despite his predicament, shivered.

"I sent Odin to tell the Headmistress," Ivory added.

Brian held up the tiny vial. Inside, clinging to the bottom of the glass, was a tiny speck of pink potion. "Well, at least it's not Amortentia. Is there a cure?"

"For one galleon," Roger scoffed, holding the instructions between two fingers. He couldn't tell whether or not it stunk like love potion, but he _could_ say that it reeked of feet. "Or, it wears off on its own between two and four hours."

If it was anyone else, Roger might have laughed. He might have had fun with it. He might have even encouraged the poor sod who had the misfortune to imbibe such a potion. But John wouldn't be able to live with the embarrassment.

"He didn't have the cure," Ivory said. "I would have been able to find that, too."  
  
They'd just have to keep John from doing anything embarrassing for a few hours, which was easier said than done when dealing with magic that forced you to act in ways you normally wouldn't. In the time it took Roger to read the slip, John had managed to work both his arms all the way around him again.

Roger felt the heat creep back into his face.

Freddie reached over and took the paper. "Well, at least it doesn't cause anything other than..." He gestured to Roger and John. "According to this, anyway."

Perhaps it wouldn't cause _John_ to do anything other than hug and cuddle, but Roger had no such limits, and the closer John was to him, the more Roger thought--

He pushed the fantasy from his mind, surprised at how easy it was to banish. The very thought of _taking advantage of the situation_ sickened him. His face cooled. He took a deep, steeling breath. They'd get through this. They'd gotten through worse.

"You okay, Rog?" Brian asked.

"Mostly. Having a bit of a rough time."

When they reached their room, Freddie gave the password, despite Ivory's presence. None of them cared if she knew it, anyway, considering how much a part of all this she'd become. Just as she was about to enter, though, Brian put a hand on her shoulder. "I've got an idea, but you can't be here, Ivory."

She only appeared affronted for a moment, then she looked at Freddie. "Oh. Do you think...?"  
  
"I don't know," Brian replied. "But I think it's worth a try."

Roger looked between them both, then at Freddie, who shrugged.

But Ivory just nodded, raising her chin. "Let me know how it goes, then?"

"We will," Brian said.

With one last look at John, Ivory headed back the way she came, toward the Great Hall.

"Do you mind telling me what that was about?" Freddie asked, as Brian shepherded them all inside. Roger managed to reach around John to pull the door closed behind them, though the Slytherin didn't make it the least bit easy.

"Look," Brian said. "You said that John doesn't like anyone. And it clicked--Siren song is based on the ability of a siren to... Sort of _take hold_ of the part of someone's mind that feels love. Romantic love. It's why Roger asked you to marry him the first time he came out of your trance."

"Are we still talking about that, then?" Roger mumbled.

Brian ignored him. "It doesn't affect John because he doesn't feel romantic attraction."

"I love you, Roggie," John whispered.

"But he _does_ love us. I think." Freddie narrowed his eyes at John.

"Oh, don't you know _anything_ about yourself?" Brian asked. "Romantic love is totally different. It's... Well, it's different. As far as magic's concerned, anyway. And if a love potion can turn that part of John's mind on, I think it can be affected just like any other person can be."

"I'm going to ignore that slight if you tell me what you're on about," Freddie replied. "You aren't actually suggesting I _sing_ at John?"

"Why not?" Roger asked. "If it works...?"

"Because I--Because--Because you're my friends." Freddie's eyebrows lowered, his forehead furrowing. "John's my friend. What am I going to tell him to do? Ignore the potion? Even as a girl, I'm not powerful enough."

Brian scratched his chin.

But Roger had it figured out. "Tell him to sleep it off," he said. "If it's only a few hours, he can just sleep through it."

"If you sleep with me, love," John purred.

Roger actually winced. John was very pretty, but _this wasn't John._ It was someone else in John's shell, with John's voice, channeling the horrors of a love potion. And Roger found that he didn't find this version of his friend attractive in the least.   
  
He wanted John back. The real one.

Freddie stared at the Slytherin for a long time, probably thinking similar thoughts. If this went on, it could kill John later, when he finally snapped out of it, and moreover, John would wonder why no one did anything to fix it. "All right," Freddie finally said.

"Quietly, though," Brian warned. "In case there's anyone in the hall."

And Freddie sang. His voice was the voice of an angel, though it carried the undertones of something much more sinister. Still, Roger found himself entranced.

 _"Fear will never aid you_  
In this Bitter Realm of Dark  
You'll be consumed  
Your soul subsumed  
Unless you find your spark  
And with that light to guide you  
Along the errant way  
You might escape and prosper  
And live another day."

Short.

Quiet.

Roger broke from the thrall, shaking his head, but John...

John's arms fell to his sides. His jaw was slightly slack with surprise as he stared at Freddie, a look of frozen horror on his face. Roger felt it before--the fear that came with the imprisonment of his body. He couldn't move, or speak, or cry for help...

"Holy shit," Brian said. "It worked."

"I'm so sorry, John," Freddie said, gently, tenderly laying a hand on John's cheek. "You're to sleep, do you hear me? Until this potion clears. Until you're well again. Until you no longer feel the effects of this... infatuation. Do you understand?"

Without blinking, John nodded, closed his eyes, and fell asleep where he stood. Had Roger not been directly behind him, he would have crashed to the floor.

But Roger caught him under his arms. Freddie took the poor boy's feet, and together, they got him to his bed.

After a long time, Brian asked, "Do you think we should go back?"

As John snored softly, Roger shook his head. "No. We gotta be here when he wakes up. He's going to need us. Or he's going to curse us all for seeing him like that. Either way, I'm staying."

The others agreed.


	18. Solvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets no justice. He does, however, learn who cursed him.

Although Roger's chair disappeared right out from under him, that didn't awaken him so much as the moment when his backside exchanged intimately painful pleasantries with the flagstone floor.

He opened his eyes just in time to see the chair shatter on the wall opposite from the desk. He couldn't say how he could have possibly fallen asleep in the uncomfortable wooden chair, and with the adrenaline pumping through him, Roger couldn't even tell whether or not he was well-rested.

In front of him, John staggered and dropped his wand, both hands clutching his head. Brian, ever the forward-thinker, quickly grabbed John's wand and tossed it across the room to Freddie, who stuffed it inside a bureau drawer.

"Sit down, John!" Brian said. "Before you _fall."_

"I'll _kill--_ I'll _kill him!_ " John growled, enraged eyes focusing on Roger.   
  
"For what, darling? Being a perfect gentleman?" Freddie asked. "Am I to kill you for what you did to me?"

That gave John just enough pause for Brian to lead him back over to the bed and sit him down.

He was still wearing the yellow dress robe. No one had wanted to chance taking it off and getting the poor guy into his pajamas. Freddie had, however, taken John's hair out of its fancy updo; it hung in messy waves down to his shoulders.

"What I did to--?" John narrowed his eyes, remembering. "Did I bite you?"

"And you broke my nose," Freddie said. "Luckily, Brian fixed that. If I'd gone to Pomfrey again, I think she would have had my head. She's quite sick of us, you know."

Closing his eyes, John rubbed the back of his neck. Roger took the opportunity to pry himself from the floor, though every inch in his body protested. Seeking the comfort of a soft resting spot, he sat next to John, who immediately jumped up, skipping several steps away in a dizzied flurry, before being caught again by Brian.

"Don't touch me," John snapped, eyeing Roger again.

And... That actually hurt. Out of everything that happened, that really stung the most. Roger felt his eyes blurring, and he kind of hated himself for it. In his mind, he was the hero of this novel, and heroes just weren't supposed to cry.

"Oh, look what you've done," Freddie said, noticing, because of course he had.

John wheeled on him. "Well, what am I supposed to--"

"Not be an ass?" Freddie interrupted. "Roger can't help what happened, either. You know how he feels. I know you do. And he never laid a hand on you. You should be proud, you dolphin's blowhole."

"It was a love potion, John," Brian said, his voice soft. "I don't know how much you were paying attention, but it came from the Weasley store in Diagon Alley. Ivory found it."

"So I...?" John started, his voice tapering off. "Oh. Oh, I was the one who..."

"I know it'll be weird," Roger said. "But John, I swear, I never even thought..." He shook his head. "I knew it wasn't you. I knew it wasn't right. I'm sorry--"

"Don't apologize to him," Freddie said, turning up his nose.

But John's anger left him as he stared at the floor, lowering himself slowly onto the end of the bed. "It's coming back in pieces," he said. "I remember..." He winced. "Going up onto the stage. The microphone. I--I called for Roger, didn't I? Oh, Merlin..."

He buried his face in his hands.

Roger was afraid to say anything.

"We thought the best thing to do was sing you to sleep," Freddie said, much more gently. "It seemed like the most humane option."

John nodded and muttered a muffled "thanks" through his hands.

And then, no one said anything for a good long time, because no one knew what to say. Nothing like this ever happened to any of them before--except John, of course--but drawing any sort of comparison would have been impossible. Roger wasn't stupid; love potions were no different than the Imperius Curse with a pre-programmed set of instructions. And for being the subject of John's affections, _he_ felt just as terrible as John did, even though he couldn't have done anything about it.

Short of inexplicably possessing the cure.

But none of them could have foreseen the need for it. Who expected to be cursed, after all? Even if the curse was technically a potion? Roger wasn't a psychic, after all, if that branch of magic even really existed, and he had his doubts.

"I'm sorry, Rog," John finally said.

It was like a weight lifting off his shoulders. "You don't have to be. It was..."

"Weird," John said.

Roger chuckled.

"Look, it's almost breakfast," Brian said. "Why don't we dress you in some normal robes and then go to the Great Hall and get you something to eat? You'll feel better."

"I can't go out there," John said. "I'll never leave this room again."

Roger met Brian's eyes, then Freddie's. Freddie shrugged.

"They all saw me on stage," John said. "They'll--"

"Oh, bother." Freddie waved a hand. "They didn't even know who you were, dear. I was listening. Trust me, I've an ear for gossip."

"But--" John tried.

"Not up for debate. Go on. Get yourself dressed."

"But they'll--!"

"Then _I'll,"_ Freddie said, leaving the threat completely open-ended. "John, you can't stay a prisoner forever. You can't stay here. Come on. The sooner you get out of here, the better you'll feel. I've put a change of clothes for you behind the divider. Come on now."

The expression on John's face died a horrible, heartbreaking death. He looked up at Freddie, then down at himself. "I'm already a prisoner, though, aren't I, Fred? Time's almost up, isn't it? We aren't going to find a cure. Doesn't matter if I'm in this room or out walking around the school. I'm a prisoner. We all are."

The following silence allowed the statement to really sink in. Roger gritted his teeth and forced himself not to cry. Freddie looked away, a tear sparkling against the iridescent scales on his cheek.

Brian wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robe and fled the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Yes," Freddie said, staring with confusion at the door. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But I'll take a prison in a mobile cage, won't you?"

Roger stood, holding his hand out to John. "C'mon, buddy," he said.

John hesitated a moment before taking it. "Sorry about the chair," he said.   
  
"Ah, it's all right. It's not my chair!" Roger smiled, even though he didn't feel very happy about anything. He worried about John, and he worried even more about Brian, who always seemed far to sensible to run away in tears. In fact, out of all of them, Brian was the least likely to lose his cool about anything, even in the most dire of situations. Granted, _dire_ for a student of Hogwarts was usually a looming major test date, but the sentiment still applied.

Once on his feet, John wandered toward the divider, still rubbing the back of his neck.

"I suppose you can have your wand back, too, if you promise not to murder anyone with it," Freddie said. "Either with magic or physical stabbing. I don't approve of either."

"Can you stab someone with a wand?" Roger asked.

"I won't!" John said. "Unless someone else does something stupid."

Freddie's eyes narrowed just a bit in thought, with his hand on the bureau drawer. After several long seconds of contemplation, he said, "What do you think about leaving this powerful magical artifact _here_ for another hour, eh? Just in case."

John muttered an irritated syllable from behind the divider.

"I think that's a 'yes'?" Roger guessed.  
  


\---

  
Brian wasn't in the Great Hall for breakfast.

That alone wasn't abnormal. After all, Brian would often take the hours before class to get in a little last-minute studying in lieu of eating. John still thought he'd see Brian here even after he left their room in tears, but he wasn't too worried. What he _did_ find odd was the fact that Roger headed for the Slytherin table instead of the Hufflepuff table as planned.

"Hey!" Roger said. Ivory looked up. "Can we sit with you guys?"

"Yeah, of course," Ivory replied.

As if Roger were diseased, all the other Slytherins--save for Ivory and Odin, stood up and vacated the immediate area, sitting further down the table. "There." Roger grinned, hands on his hips. "Now we can all talk in private. Eh?"

"Sometimes you're pretty smart," Freddie said, clapping Roger on the shoulder as he sat down. "You know that, right?"   
  
"I get that way." Roger sat, too. John sat next to him, across from Odin.

John's head ached with every move he made. His stomach protested at the smell of fresh breadrolls and oatmeal. And when Roger piled a few pancakes on his plate, he almost passed out. He must have looked terrible. Still, Odin asked in a conspiratorial whisper, "How d'you feel, John?"

"Like I've been hit by a muggle truck," he grumbled, as Roger discarded the ladle in a tureen of syrup and dumped every last drop onto the pancakes he didn't want. "Roger."

"Eat!" Roger exclaimed. "Brian says you'll feel better."

"Brian's never suffered through a love potion before." Freddie reached across Roger and removed the syrupy mess, placing it in front of himself, instead. He replaced it with a bowl containing a couple slices of cantaloupe, which looked much more palatable.

John grunted.

"That bad, huh?" Ivory asked. "Well, here's some good news. Mike and Alcor aren't here this morning. They weren't in the Slytherin dorms, either."

John perked up. "You think they were expelled?"

"For using a love potion? I hope so," Ivory said.

"I don't know..." Freddie muttered. "Guys, the more I think about it, the more I wonder... How is a love potion any worse than what I can do? You know, the singing and all?"

Being under the spell of a siren's song was pretty awful. Even though John could only recall the whole ordeal in a haze, he remembered being terrified; not even Brian's and Roger's anecdotes of their entrancement could have prepared John for the reality. Frozen and silent, he wanted to scream and thrash and escape, only to be held in complete thrall. Still... "Because it's part of you," John said.

"Yeah," Odin agreed. "You can't be held accountable unless you use your voice to... um. Get your way?" He scratched his head, scrunching up his nose. "It's weird, I almost remember..." Trailing off, he shook his head.

"Do you?" Ivory asked. "If you remember anything..."

Odin scowled and shook his head again. "No, it's still gone. Sorry, John."

It took John a second to figure out what Odin meant. "You mean when you tipped the cauldron?" The memory almost made him dizzy. Their last chance to reverse the spell, spilled out onto the floor and forgotten. Odin hunched his shoulders, but John reached across the table, laying his hand atop his housemate's for as long as he could stand. "It's... It's all right. Apparently if we'd taken it, it could have killed us."

"Blessing in disguise, I guess?" Odin tried.

 _But they were running out of time,_ John thought, for the fiftieth time since he woke up.

"Anyway," Ivory said, winking. "For a Gryffindor, you're pretty honorable, and I trust you."

"High praise from a Slytherin," Freddie replied, looking down his nose. "John, do you lot know what honor means?"

"Elbow him for me, would you, Rog?" John asked, unable to help smiling the _bare minimum_ of a smile.

As Freddie and Roger shoved each other, John noticed Headmistress McGonagall stepping up to the podium in front of the staff table. Most of the other students weren't paying attention as she raised her hand, waiting for quiet.

"Guys," John said. "Look."

His friends ceased their play-fighting, and soon, all over the Great Hall, the chatter ceased. John found it a testament to how respected McGonagall was that all she had to do was stand up, and people listened.

"I do apologize for the early-morning announcement, students, and also for the fact that many of you will hear this at lunch and dinner as well, but there's a matter of some import to discuss." McGonagall paused, looking over the top of her glasses.

John's heart leapt. This must be related to what happened at the Quincentennial the night before--it must have been about the love potion. His tormenters would be expelled, just like Ivory suggested, and he'd be able to live in peace. Not only that, but no one expelled from a school of magic could hope to ever get a reasonable job, even if they were expelled in their seventh year. Their wands would be broken. They would be forbidden to practice magic.

And while it was only a small consolation that did nothing to reverse his curse, John found himself comforted by the idea of their demise.

"Love potions," McGonagall said, and half the people in the great hall giggled. John scowled, ducking down closer to the table, even though they didn't recognize him as the "girl" on stage at the ball. McGonagall continued. "Whether short-term or otherwise, love potions are not allowed to be used on school grounds. While this isn't explicitly stated in the rules, we _believed_ our students intelligent enough to avoid them. Apparently not." She paused for effect; many of those present bowed their heads or looked away. Certainly no one was laughing anymore.

"Love potions are not a toy." McGonagall punctuated the statement by slapping the palm of her hand on the podium. "In fact, they are a good deal more dangerous than most other magics that exist, and shouldn't be used at all. It's never a joke when you preempt another person's free will."

The hall went silent. Not even the sound of forks on plates could be heard.

"Last night, someone decided it would be a good idea to... shall we say _liven up_ the Quincentennial Ball by adding a love potion to one student's punch. I am told the student is fine." Mercifully, McGonagall didn't even look in John's direction. "However, in order to deter this sort of tomfoolery in the future, _one hundred points_ will be taken from Slytherin house."

Most of the Slytherins groaned. Others hurled insults at each other, accusing their own housemates of ruining their chances at the House Cup. John tried to tell himself--as a huge cheer erupted from Gryffindor--that any house would do the same thing, but he had little faith in Slytherin lately. While the majority of his housemates were good people--like Ivory and Odin--so many of them would spit on their own friends to achieve their goals, if that's what it took.

"Furthermore, the offending students will serve out the rest of the year in detention, three days a week, immediately after classes."

That was it? _Detention?_ She had to be joking. Surely she meant to expel them instead! This didn't even come close to making up for everything Mike did. Expulsion wouldn't, either, but it would come a hell of a lot closer! _This wasn't fair!_

John started to stand, but Roger grabbed his sleeve and tugged.

"Don't," Roger whispered to him. "Don't run. They'll know you were involved."

Sound logic, but John barely heard him through the pounding in his ears. He also shook with rage, his headache intensifying to migraine-level. What more had to happen at Hogwarts for Mike and his friends to be expelled? Would they have to _kill someone_ first?

No. It wouldn't get to that. John would fix it. He'd have to do it himself if the teachers wouldn't, and he had the perfect idea.

"What are you thinking, Deaky?" Freddie asked, his voice cautious.

John tasted blood. He'd bitten his lip so hard, it was bleeding.

"John?" Ivory tried.

With his decision made, the rage left him. He had all the time in the world now, and his revenge would end this cycle once and for all.  
  


\---

  
Roger typically didn't waste time worrying over much of anything. Coursework, Quidditch injuries, curses (usually courtesy of John himself)... All of those could sort themselves out with time and patience. Worrying just made you upset, as far as Roger was concerned, and accomplished literally nothing at all.

Still, John's silence since breakfast raised a whole lot of alarms, and Roger found himself deep in the throes of worry. After stomping to their room, kicking around bits of the broken chair, and screaming into a pillow, John was now heading toward their secret hideout on the third floor with his arms full of books.

And a small bag of rocks.

Why rocks?

"Why rocks?" Roger asked, not for the first time.

"If you aren't going to help me, leave. Go back to our room."

It's the only answer John would give.

"It's just--what are we helping you with, dear?" Freddie asked. "We kind of need to know, if we're going to--er. Do. Whatever it is that needs doing?"

"You'd try to stop me," John snapped. "And I'm not going to let you. Go. Get out of here."

"Well, _of course_ we're going to try to stop you," Roger said. "We can't let you do anything stupid. And it really looks like you're about to do something stupid."

John rounded on them both, his jaw set, his eyes still bloodshot from the after-effects of the love potion. "Teaching my housemates a bloody lesson."

Rather than expand on that, John whirled around and marched off, his robe arching behind him like a cape.

Like the cape of a supervillain about to enact his plan to destroy the world.

Yeah, Roger had a good reason for worrying.

Exasperated, Freddie grumbled a quiet "Deaky, _no,"_ and followed after, with Roger on his heels.  

By now, they'd all been to the empty room so often that they didn't even need the marks on the walls anymore to find it. They were still there, of course; John smudged one of the arrows with his fingers on the way past, sending a shower of blue dust to the floor. Roger cringed as fingernails scratched against brick, sending a shiver up his spine.

When John reached the right room, he kicked the door open. A "What the _hell!?"_ came from inside.

Ah! Well, at least they'd found Brian!

Roger peeked around the doorframe. The torches were lit, though the morning sun shone through a small window near the ceiling. Brian sat on the floor, a pile of books in front of him. His eyes were wider than the circumference of a fully-inflated pufferfish, and just as comical.

"Whadderyoudoinghere?" Brian demanded.

"What are _you_ doing here?" John returned.

"Working on--On finding--You know what I'm doing!" Brian finally managed. "I'm looking for a countercurse!"

"Fine. Stay if you want. But don't get in my way." John dropped the books and the bag of rocks, and pulled one single folded piece of paper out of his pocket, which he waved threateningly at Brian. "I'm doing something about Mike and Alcor, and the other two, too, if I can catch them. I've had it. I'm done."

"Ah," Roger said, when Brian looked at him for answers. "McGonagall gave them detention for the love potion." 

"That's it?" Brian asked. "I thought they'd be expelled!"

"Their families have money," John grumbled. "I'd know. Mine does, too. They probably went to the Ministry or something. Paid someone off. Got McGonagall to let them stay..."

"The Headmistress wouldn't take a bribe," Freddie said. "Would she?"

"No, _she_ wouldn't," John said. "But you can't tell me you trust everyone at the Ministry of Magic? Not after they botched You-Know-Who's return?"

That was fair. Roger hadn't existed back then, but his father was a student at Hogwarts when it all happened, and didn't trust the Ministry even a bit. He even thought it ought to be disbanded, and talked at length about how much they constantly failed at even the simplest of jobs.

"What is it that you're doing?" Freddie asked. "Or, what is it that you're going to try to do, that we're going to stop you from doing?"

John glared at him, then held out the folded paper. "Don't think you'll stop me by holding onto that. I made copies."

Because, Roger realized, if it came to John deciding to get his revenge, he knew his best friends would attempt to deter him in any way they knew how. Still, putting a stop to this wasn't a hopeless endeavor just yet.

Probably.

Freddie unfolded the paper. "Oh, John. You can't!"

"What is it?" Brian asked, sitting up a little straighter. Freddie passed the paper to him. Brian squinted at it, then said, "You tore this out of my book!"

"I figured you wouldn't notice, with all the other pages missing," John said. "Look, it'll work. It doesn't kill anyone. It's just--"

Roger grabbed the paper from Brian. Even though he still couldn't parse the fancy lettering, he did make out the words "Spell of Living Stone" at the top of the page. "This sounds bad," he said.

"It _is!"_ Brian whimpered. His eyes were about to spill over with tears again. "John. You can't do this. You can't! I--I have to--I can fix this. Just give me some time!"

Putting his hands over his ears, he again stared down at the open book in front of him.

"There's no time left." John snapped the page out of Roger's hand, and jammed his finger down onto it. "This is what they _deserve._ Look, you can try to talk sense into me all you want. I'm going to make the runes right here, right now. We're going to trap them in the circle in the Great Hall. They did this to us, and we're going to do something back to them."

"I can fix it!" Brian insisted.

"You only have a few days!" John wailed.

"Then _give me a few days!"_ Brian replied.

John's scowl twisted his features in such an ugly way that he became unrecognizable. "No."

"John, listen to me," Freddie said, so gently it was as if he was verbally petting a kitten. "You can't go back from this, darling. You won't be the person you were before, if you go through with this. What you want to do is worse than killing them."

"Don't be dramatic," John said. "It's not forever. A couple months at most. We'll teach them a lesson and--"

"Get expelled," Roger said. He glanced back at Brian, whose fingers were tangled into his hair as he tried to concentrate on his book. Strange, that he had nothing to add to the conversation. He was usually John's moral compass.

"If they didn't get expelled for using a love potion, I won't get expelled for this. Besides, they won't talk, because they'll know _I'll do it again._ "

"People go insane over this," Freddie said, his voice remaining steady. "You could make them crazy."

"Bullshit." John crouched down, pouring the rocks out of the bag. "We'll have a few statues in the Great Hall for a couple months, that's all. Then no one has to suffer anymore."

"It's not just putting them to sleep for a while, though!" Freddie exclaimed. "They don't just wake up with lost time. This spell..." He took the paper back. "They're conscious the whole time. Look, John. What happened to us is horrible. And I know, we're changed forever. But we still have our wits about us, don't we? We'll be able to deal with it. We're every bit as strong and capable as we were before."

John stood, snatched the paper back from Freddie, and began spreading the stones out in front of him on the floor. "They. Deserve it," he growled.

Brian sobbed.

John stopped organizing the stones, his temper stayed--at least temporarily.

Crouching down next to Brian, Roger put a hand on his shoulder. "Bri?" he asked. The Ravenclaw cried softly into his hands, his back heaving with the effort.

Roger noticed the nail polish. And a Ravenclaw-bronze headband nestled into Brian's curls.

And things started to fit together.

"We'll figure it out," Freddie said. "We still have a little time, Brian."

When Brian peeked out from between his fingers, it wasn't Freddie he looked to, though. He met Roger's eyes, and Roger arched his eyebrows, asking the silent question.

Brian nodded.

"Oh, no. No. Brian, you have to tell them," Roger said.

"What, did he figure something out?" John asked, standing. One foot scattered the rocks from their neat line.

"Tell them," Roger said again.

Brian closed his eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath. Pushing the book aside, he got to his feet, shoulders slumped in defeat. When he raised his head, he looked not at any of his friends, but at the wall across the room, behind John.

Quietly, Brian mumbled, "I did it."

Nothing could possibly be more silent than the room in that moment. Brian cleared his throat and said a little louder, voice breaking, "I did it."

Before anyone could stop it, John's fist collided with Brian's face, emitting a horrid, ear-splitting _crack._ Roger stumbled aside as Brian spun, putting out a hand to try to catch himself before he fell. He failed.

John stood above him, eyes wild with rage. "Look what you did to me! To all of us! This isn't _me_ , Brian! Now I'll have to do to you what I was gonna do to the Slytherins! _Is that what you wanted?!"_

"Wait," Roger said. "Just wait a sec, John. Brian?"

Brian spit out a tooth.

"This wasn't meant for us, was it?" Roger asked.   
  
Brian shook his head.

"Was it meant for you?"

Brian sniffled, looked up, and nodded.


	19. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian explains how it was done. And why.

Brian rubbed her cheek, as she stared dumbly down at the molar on the floor.

Roger knelt next to her, cradling her in his arms, but Brian couldn't look up at him. She never wanted them to know. If only they could have come up with a solution before this point--before John went so far into the deep end that he wouldn't ever be able to recover! But she couldn't let it go on. Mike and the other Slytherins weren't innocent, but they didn't deserve what John meant to do to them.

"Bri?" Roger said.

John paced. He kicked the rocks, which skittered across the floor, pinging off the wall.

"It wasn't supposed to happen to you," Brian finally muttered. She tested the painful spot in her mouth with her tongue, wincing when she found the empty socket. Her face also felt like it was puffing up like a balloon, though she couldn't quite believe John had really struck her. "I didn't know it would. Really. It was only supposed to be me."

"So--so this? You didn't do this to us on purpose?" John demanded. He turned, pacing across the room again. He raised his fist as if to slam it into the wall, then his fingers slowly uncurled as he thought better of it. After all, his hand was already bruising. Instead, he looked over his shoulder and said, more gently, "This was an accident? How?"

"I didn't want anyone to judge me," Brian said. "I made the role reversal here, in this room. It was just before..." She laughed coldly, remembering. "Just before you all got here for John's intervention thing. It was horrible. Worst thing I ever--"

"You made it?" Freddie asked. "You actually made it. You're a fourth-year, Brian. That's incredible!"

Brian allowed herself to be comforted by the compliment, and smiled. "I just wanted to be a girl," she said, wistful.

"I've always kinda known," Roger said. Brian could hear the smile in his voice. "Since we were kids, even. Nothing specific comes to mind, but I think Brian's always felt like he was a girl. She? Sorry."  
  
"She, yeah," Brian said, though her voice wouldn't rise above a whisper.

"But it couldn't have been you," Freddie said. "Could it? Someone made Odin spill the potion. The second Role Reversal we were making."

Brian looked at her hands. "I'm so sorry, Freddie."

Freddie narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?"

"I tore out the warnings page, in my book--so you wouldn't--" Brian sobbed. If anything would make them hate her, this would. "I knew if you took it, it'd kill you. I knew. I read it. And I thought--I thought John might convince you both to take it, too."

John crossed his arms.

"So... I used a recording spell. Forget-me-nots in a jar, in our room." Out of all her ideas, this one was the most sinister. If the others chose to tell McGonagall, Brian would be expelled for sure. Perhaps even jailed for it.

And she'd deserve it.

"It was so easy. I left them there until I had the right words to rearrange into a command. And then--Then I got your song."

Freddie stared blankly ahead, jaw slack, then slumped to the floor. "Oh, Merlin. I didn't even know that was a thing that could be done."

"Why Odin?" John asked. "Why didn't you just do it yourself?"

Brian didn't answer. She couldn't answer.

John, astute as ever, answered for her. "You didn't want to be caught."

"I needed--" Her breath hitched, her throat tight. "I needed more time," she said. "I couldn't take the risk--"

"But you hurt him, dear, and you used _my voice_ to do it!" Obviously hurt, Freddie scowled. "All this could have been avoided if you'd _just. Told us."_ Biting his lip, he tugged at his ears, obviously distressed. "Brian, you can't--"

"I know. I know, Fred. I'm--I'm sorry. I was panicking. I couldn't let you guys die. I couldn't."

"I suppose the ends justify the means, in a way," Freddie grumbled. "I don't think I'd make a very flattering corpse."

"And Odin's memories?" John asked.

"I took them. I stored them in the forget-me-nots," Brian said. "It's no harder than copying your memories into a pensieve, but I didn't copy them. I moved them. If the jar breaks, he'll... he'll get his memories back."

"And that's why he couldn't remember, even after the Headmistress--" John paced again. "You can't keep them. You have to give them back."

"I know."

"And you'd better fucking apologize," John hissed.

"You're not going to tell McGonagall?" Brian asked.

"No, I'm bloody not. But I'm still pissed." For a moment, John looked lost. Then, making what seemed to be a snap decision, he plopped himself down on the floor next to Freddie. "I'm here. I'm here, all right? But you're not done talking yet."

Brian picked up her tooth, rolling it in her palm, just for something to distract her. She felt a cut welling up on her lip, too. "I had to pick a spell that was irreversible. That way, everyone would say, 'poor Brian. There's nothing we can do. He'll just have to get used to it.' And I'd pretend I hated it for a while, but eventually, I'd be fine, and I'd... Be able to be myself. I was too scared to do it the muggle way. You know what they do to trans people in the muggle world, Rog."

John and Freddie looked at him for an explanation. Grim, Roger said, "It's not pretty."

"The spell had to be prepared based on age. It's very specific. The ingredients have to be measured so precisely--It's why John's so much prettier than the rest of us. He's a year younger." Brian finally looked up at the Slytherin, meeting his eyes for the first time. She expected to see rage in his features, but he was only frowning, confused.

"That doesn't explain why we all changed," he said. "You didn't give us the potion."

"Ah, yeah," Brian said, looking back at the floor. "After you all turned up transfigured, I went back and looked at the spell, to see what might have gone wrong. It's a curse wrapped up in a potion, really. That's kind of what happens with living elements. One of the warnings said it had a certain level of... proximity damage. It could be transmitted for several hours, like a virus. I didn't realize it until after I spent the whole day with you. I was the vector, and you all just... Caught it."

And there it was. If she'd just read the warnings and stayed in her room, everything would have gone according to plan. But Brian had been far too excited to be cautious, and her friends suffered because of her carelessness.

"Then," she went on. "You wanted to see the book. And I was afraid if you read that, you'd figure it out. So I--"

"Tore out the page. Why the other ones?" Freddie asked.

"So it wouldn't look suspicious."

"You should have left them there," John said, his voice flat.

"I thought I could fix it," Brian said. That's what it all came down to. She just wanted to fix it before anyone found out she did it. And like Freddie said--in her panic, the ends justified the means, no matter what she had to pull to keep her secret. Now that the truth was out, it all seemed so stupid. So many people ended up hurt in her bid for secrecy, and Brian was no closer to a countercurse than she was on the very first day.

"Well, darling," Freddie went on. "If you told us you intended to do this, we could have helped you, you know. Maybe one of us would have caught the warning before... Well. This." He gestured at himself, then at John and Roger.

Brian sobbed. "I needed it to look like an accident."

Roger leaned against her shoulder. "You could have trusted us. Really. Look, we haven't murdered you yet, have we? We're all still here? John?"

"Yeah," John said. But he was staring blankly ahead, unfocused.

He wouldn't forgive her. He'd never forgive her. Unable to hold back the tears any longer, Brian looked down at the floor, letting them fall.

A gentle hand touched her chin and raised it.

John.

Brian stared into his eyes, which shimmered green with his own unshed tears. If only the spell affected him like it had Roger! Then at least he'd look more like himself. But the Slytherin was so pretty, there was no mistaking him for a boy, and as he got older, there never would be.

"You said you were angry," Brian muttered.

"My friends do stupid things all the time," John said. "Usually Roger, but..."

"Hey," Roger said. "I mean, he's right, but still."

John actually smiled.

"If you turn me into a statue," Brian said, "will you at least come read to me or something? I don't want to go crazy."

"I'm not gonna do that," John replied. "Don't worry. Maybe when we're all feeling better I'll give you a coat of fur for a few days. Or bull horns. Or--You know, I think I know too many curses."

Fair. More than fair.

Freddie pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his arms atop them. "Well, tell us then, darling. Should we be calling you something else? A new name?"

Brian actually laughed, then, because it was a question she'd thought about time and time again, and always came to the same answer. "Ah, actually, I like my name. I like 'Brian.'"

"Don't know if I can remember that one," Freddie mused. The others chuckled. "Why did you wait until now to tell us it was you?"

"Yeah," John agreed. "If you told us sooner..."

"Would it have made a difference?" Brian interrupted. "I couldn't fix it. I couldn't figure it out. I was going to tell you when I came up with a countercurse, but there was nothing, was there? But I had to tell you because of what... what John was gonna do." She pressed her lips together as her stomach roiled uncomfortably. The thought of John going down that road... "I don't use this word lightly, but that... John, that was evil. That's the only thing I can say."

John's face turned red as his eyebrows lowered. He seemed as if he was about to argue, then he slouched and turned away.

"I'm glad you told us," Freddie said. "I know we could have talked him down, eh, John?" He leaned over and nudged John with his shoulder. "His anger burns out after a while. I think. Right, Deaky?"

"I don't think it would have this time," John said.

"We'd be fine!" Freddie waved a dismissive hand. "Just fine!"

None of them would be fine, Brian realized. She had no where else to turn for a cure, and even if she found something--even the tiniest speck of hope--there would be no time left to execute a spell powerful enough to undo her grievous accident. "I can't even begin to apologize for this," she said. "You don't have to accept it. You don't have to understand. I don't expect any of you to tell me this is okay. Every time I look at you, I'll remember what I did. The only thing I can promise is that I'll be more careful from now on. I know that's not good enough but... I can't give you back what you lost. I'm sorry."

And just like that, with her admitting defeat, three entirely male students were stuck in the wrong bodies for the rest of their lives.

She felt like she doomed them. They certainly looked like it.

Roger sighed. Freddie dabbed at his eyes. "Well, dear," he said. "You really did fuck things up. I'll give you that."

"I, for one, plan to have a good cry when all this catches up with me," Roger said, a bit too cheerfully. I suggest you all do the same."

"Believe me," Freddie said. "I will."

When Brian looked at John to gauge his reaction, she found him staring straight at the wall again, his eyes narrowed. "Thinking of the right curse for me?" she asked, trying to sound as lighthearted as possible. Her voice fell flat. "At least warn me before you do."

"No," John said, drawing the word out in a rather curious fashion.

"No to thinking of a curse, or no to a warning?" Roger asked. "Because I hope it's the first thing."

A bright, sunny grin lighted on John's face, and Brian saw triumph in his eyes. It wasn't an expression she anticipated.

"No to both," John said. "I think I've figured out how to fix this whole mess."  
  


\---

  
"We _have_ to do this?" John asked, eyeing Ivory, who was across the room setting up a camera on a tripod.

" _Yes,"_ Roger said. "Look, it's the last time we can, if you're right about your cure. And I want to remember how beautiful we were when we look back on this in ten years and have a good laugh."

"Well, I'll still be beautiful," Freddie said, with a flourish and a bow. "You two will be hairy and ugly and probably bald."

"At twenty four," Roger asked.

"Well? Maybe?"

John sighed, conceding. "How'd it go with Odin, Brian?"

"Ivory was angrier." Brian hopped up on the desk and gestured to their photographer, who gave her the side-eye.

"Well, what do you expect?" she asked. "You stole someone's memories! Look, we talked it out. But you'll have to earn my trust back, May."

Brian looked at the floor. "Odin's okay. He's... Upset. But he remembers everything now. Including--"

"That's the only thing that saved me from murdering you," Ivory interrupted. "She told Odin what she was doing before she did it. Of course, then you took his memory of that, too."

"I had to," Brian murmured.

John felt sorry for Brian, as much as he could. But she'd gotten herself in pretty deep with all these layers of secrecy, and deserved the ire. If John understood one thing, it was anger and all its intricacies. And how fear could make even the smartest of people absolutely stupid.

"At least I know why I couldn't smell a curse on you," Ivory went on, her tone much milder as she fiddled with the camera.

Interested, Brian sat up again. Truth be told, John wanted to know the answer to that one, too.

"Curses are only curses if they're unwanted," Ivory explained. "I mean, _technically_ it's still called a curse, but when it's something the person wants--" She gestured to Brian, "It becomes a charm, as far as I can detect. And the whole school smells like charms because of the shielding."

"Oh, well that's just super-convenient, isn't it?" Roger asked. "Seriously, these plot devices need work, Ivory. That's just disappointing."

"Roger thinks we're characters in a story, dear," Freddie explained. "It's okay if you ignore him."

Ivory chuckled. "Anyway, I'm almost ready. Just give me another couple minutes."

"I... um. Came clean to McGonagall, too," Brian said.

"And you're still _here?!"_ Freddie clapped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide. "Sorry, dear, what I mean is, I thought we agreed not to tell!"

"I've got detention every day for the rest of the year," Brian admitted. "And she's going to take a hundred points from Ravenclaw."

"Looks like we've got a chance at the House Cup after all," John said, though he didn't really mean it. Gryffindor was so far ahead that unless one of them did something insanely stupid, they'd win the cup for sure.   
  
Astonishingly, Hufflepuff was _still_ in last place, despite the point deductions.

"I just wanted her to know--before anyone else told her," Brian said, her voice almost too quiet to hear. Even Ivory leaned closer. "I asked her not to expel me because... I don't think I'd have anywhere to go."

"Bollocks," Freddie said. "You'd go home. Granted, I'm not advocating for you to get expelled. I'm quite glad you were able to convince McGonagall to let you stay..."

Roger shook his head. "I dunno. Brian's parents are... Well. _Muggles."_

"It'll probably be okay," Brian said. "Probably. I just--in any case, McGonagall was angry, of course. But! You know, she went to Hogsmeade to get me a new robe!"

Brian stood again, showing off the girls' robe. It didn't fit perfectly, since the Headmistress wouldn't have had Brian's measurements, but it looked much better on her than the standard boys' robe. John found that it suited her, like she was meant to wear it all along.

"The film's ready," Ivory said. "If you could just nudge together there..."

They squeezed together on the desk--Brian and John kneeling behind Freddie and Roger. Behind the camera, Ivory carefully adjusted her view, counted down from three, and snapped the picture.

"That's it?" Roger asked, rubbing his eyes to clear the light from the flash.

"That's it!" Ivory said. "I'll need to develop the film so it moves, then get the prints to you. I'll owl them over the Christmas holiday." She picked up the tripod, camera and all, and rested it on her shoulder. "Good luck with your cure, John."

John nodded. He was sure it would work. It had to.

With one last little wave, she left.

"You can't be here, either, Brian," Freddie said after a few seconds. "You can't take the risk."

"I know," Brian replied. "I know, I'm just worried..." She hesitated, pacing a step toward the door, then back. She trembled a bit, like she did every time she was a bit flustered, her curls bouncing on her shoulders. "If something goes wrong?"

Roger hopped off the desk and wrapped Brian in a hug. Freddie soon followed, though John couldn't bring himself to join the embrace. He did get just the tiniest peek at the hurt expression on Brian's face, and maybe he felt _just a little_ badly about not participating.

But he was still angry at her.

"I'll... Um. I'll go then," Brian muttered. "Good luck."

Roger and Freddie stepped back. John regretted his lack of group hug involvement, but Brian deserved the snub, even if she was looking at him expectantly. So he turned his attention to the floor.

"Try not to swoon the next time you see us, darling," Freddie said.

The door closed. When John looked up, Brian was gone.  
  


\---

  
Brian barely knew how she could face her friends anymore after what she did. Even though it all snowballed into a much worse situation over time, the initial transfiguration still stood out as one of the worst things she'd ever done, or probably ever would do. The little voice in the back of her head reminded her over and over that it was an accident, but it didn't change the fact that people got hurt.   

At least John--clever, _clever_ John--figured out a solution before it became too late.

She just hoped it worked.   
  
Brian remained hopeful, too, that the others would forgive her with enough time. At least no one hated her as much as she feared they would, even if John and Freddie's remarks bordered on openly hostile. Roger had her back. She didn't entirely deserve his loyalty, but she had it.

A few steps from the empty classroom, Brian leaned on the cold, broken wall, staring at the flickering torch across from her. With its flame nearly spent, deep shadows shrouded the length of the hallway, so she didn't see the other person in the corridor until--

"Hey," Ivory said.

Brian jumped so high, she felt as if she might have been able to touch the ceiling. Her shoe slipped across the dusty floor, and she would have fallen if not for the aged furrows weathered into the wall. Catching hold of a divot with one hand, she clutched her chest with the other. "Were you out here waiting to ambush me or something?"

"Kinda," Ivory admitted. "Nothing bad or anything. I have a question."

"Oh, that's all right, then." Her heart pounding, Brian leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees. "I thought you were going to hex me or something." Looking up, she asked, "Are you?"

Ivory shook her head. "Maybe I would have at one point, but Odin still seems to like you all right. Besides, you're beating yourself up pretty bad from what John said."

"John said that?"

"He's worried."

Brian almost cried again. John still cared. "I didn't mean to do any of it, Ivory," she said. "It just kept getting bigger and bigger, and then John was gonna--"

"For what it's worth, I still think Mike and his gang deserve it. But you were right. John wouldn't have been the same after that. Must have been hard to come clean, huh?"

It really wasn't. Not once they all reached the point where John very well could have tarnished his soul. A dramatic way of putting it, sure, but that's how Brian felt about the whole thing. And when the Professors and Headmistress found out--and they would almost certainly find out--John would be expelled, and his bitterness would grow, and... "No," Brian said. "I should have trusted them a lot sooner."

"Eh, I have some trust issues. Maybe I would have done the same thing."

"I thought you were angry."

"I am. For Odin," Ivory rested a hand on Brian's back, giving it a gentle pat. "But I realized all your friends are boys, and you need someone to tell you about being a girl. So I'll put the anger aside. For this. For a while."

She winked.

"Being a girl?" Brian asked. "It's not the same as being a boy? Except, you know--Uh. The obvious?"

"C'mon." Ivory looped her arm through Brian's and pulled her upright again. "It's more than just headbands and nail polish. Which... Very nice, by the way."

"Thanks," said Brian, her curiosity piquing over confusion.


	20. The Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summary is kind of the title. John explains his cure and executes it. Magic doesn't work quite the same on half-sirens, though.

"This is the best day I ever had," John said. Pulling Brian's book out of his bag, he flipped to the Role Reversal spell, now with the Warnings and Considerations page spell-o-taped back into it. He also flattened the folded, semi-crumpled letter from the Headmistress' friend on the desk next to the book. If he was going to reveal how he figured out the cure, he was going to be a little dramatic about it. John felt he at least earned that much.

"The best day?" Freddie asked. He opened the door, checking the corridor. "You've just snubbed Brian. She's worried, you know."

It'd be strange thinking of Brian as a girl after knowing her as a boy for so long. Still, the stranger thing to John was the lack of anger he felt, when he had all rights to be outraged. As far as screwups went, Brian's blunder should have earned her a curse worthy of wizard record books, but John only felt an annoying sense of betrayal.

Brian should have trusted them.   
  
But she didn't, because she was afraid John would curse her. Or worse.   
  
Damn.

"Yes, the best day ever." John stuffed his feelings aside. After all he'd been through, he was going to enjoy this, dammit. "I get to curse both of you, and you're _letting me do it._ Tell me when it's ever going to get better than that. Roger, did you bring everything?"   
  
"Yep!" Roger crouched next to a large duffle with the Chudley Cannons logo emblazoned across the side. "Even got a checklist to make sure I didn't forget anythin'. Let's see..." Unbuttoning a pouch, he retrieved a list. "Three bedrolls, pillows, a bunch of other stuff--blah, blah, blah... Oh, I had the house elves whip up a pot of soup that'll stay hot over the next three days--does it have to be three days?"

"Yes. That's the way the spell works," John said, kneeling next to Roger to check the contents of the bag. It wasn't that John didn't trust Roger, but _he didn't trust Roger._ "If I could have found a shorter spell, I would have."  
  
"We are a little crunched for time, dear," Freddie said. "We've only a few days left."

"Ah, the narrator speaks," Roger said. "Thank you for the exposition."

"My pleasure." Freddie scratched his head, confused. "I just felt like I ought to remind you that we're running out of time to dally around looking for spells and the like. We'll have to go with what we have."

"Right, whatever. Just--we're all here." Roger unfurled one sleeping bag, then another. "The picture's taken. For the love of Merlin, tell us how you figured it out."

Honestly, John ran it by Brian to see if the idea was viable. He trusted her enough for that, and she, being a Ravenclaw, pointed out any problems that might arise from casting such a spell. Truthfully, there would be no airtight, fool-proof version of this cure, since it had never been attempted before.

"Well?" Freddie prompted. "This is your moment, darling."

John didn't like having an audience. Still... "Well, this was the last piece of the puzzle." He held up the book, with the page taped back into it. "The part that explains the spell is contagious once it's taken. That it works like a virus, because of the living element of the spell. Quite a few living magic spells work like that in some regard--it's probably one of the reasons that it's not in more use--"

"Yes, we know that part," Roger said.

"I could just curse you and be done with it." John scowled. "Let me savor this one, please?"

Roger rolled his eyes. The irises were starting to turn black as the sun set.

"So then, there was the letter from McGonagall's friend..." John checked the signature. "Renalda. About how Humblegrunt got sick and died before he could reveal the cure. But that's when I realized--the scarlet fever _was_ the cure. He just got himself sick at a time when scarlet fever was deadly. They couldn't help him."

The others stared at him blankly.

"Well, it's right in the spell!" John held up the book, jabbing a finger into it. Sometimes it was like explaining magic to _toddlers!_ Then again, Brian hadn't figured it out, and Brian was one of the smartest people John knew. "The low temperature used when brewing. Almost every other potion in existence uses constant high heat--high enough to at least make short work of the ingredients. But this one... The temperature is never higher than thirty-two degrees. Any higher, and it'll spoil."

"It's not _unheard of,_ " Roger said. "There's a few potions I can think of with low heat."

"But this one has the living element to it," John said. "I thought it was weird when I first read it, but just like you, I realized there's other spells--other potions--with this low heat preparation. I didn't think anything of it. But when I saw this..." He flipped to the Warnings and Considerations page again. "I don't know. The wizard who cured himself must have figured it out, too. In any case, Brian agrees. Above thirty-eight degrees, the spell is extinguished completely. The living element holding the transfiguration in place dissolves, and it can't hold."

"Why that number?" Roger asked.

John narrowed his eyes.

"No--I just. Why thirty-eight? What made you pick that?"

"Because that's around the temperature you run when you've got scarlet fever. I figured that if he went for something that dangerous--something that made him that sick--Humblegrunt must have tried other illnesses that... Well. Just didn't work."

"He made himself sick to give himself a fever," Freddie said. "To kill the living spell."

"Right," John said.

"So... If Brian ever gets sick..." Roger said.

John shook his head. "No, it's very specific in the spell. Lemme read." He flipped a couple pages back. "Here. 'Due to the effect of the new moon on the subject, we are certain that this particular lunar phase sets the spell so that it can never be reversed. Of course, with no known cure, this is merely a technicality.'"  
  
"Well, can she get this? Is it contagious?" Freddie asked.

"That I don't know," John said. "We'll have to stay away from her for a couple days 'til the new moon. Just in case."

"It can't be that easy," Roger said, incredulous. "No one figured this out before now? Someone would have gotten sick. _Someone_ would have--"

"The role-reversal isn't a commonly-used spell," John said. "It takes a month to make, first of all. And it has to be perfect, so... It's kind of a wonder a fourth-year could manage it."

"Yeah, well, Brian's not just any fourth year," Freddie said, with a good deal of pride.

"Second," John continued, "Most people using this spell would intend for it to be permanent, so they wouldn't be looking for a cure. And third, even if they did get sick while between moon phases, it's incredibly unlikely their fever would get that high. That's... _really_ ill."

"And forth," Freddie said, "A bunch of wizards in stiff coats that think they rule the world took it out of common spellbooks because it's 'too dangerous.' No one could have studied it if they wanted to."

John gestured to Freddie and nodded.

Roger unrolled the last sleeping bag, and set a pillow at the head of each. "Dunno why Brian couldn't have stayed here in this dusty old classroom tonight and given us the actual bedroom. Makes more sense for one person to move than three."

John didn't have an answer to that. He should have felt that it would serve Brian right, getting kicked out of her room after what she did. All he could think about, though, is how she'd been through enough, already, and didn't need the added insult of being kicked out of her sleeping quarters, too.

"Well, it makes more sense, in a way," Freddie said. "We're far away from the rest of the student population here, just in case it _is_ contagious."

That was as good an explanation as any.

"Fiiiiine," Roger drawled.

John set Brian's book aside, and opened another. "Anyway, this isn't exactly scarlet fever. This spell's sort of halfway between a curse and a hex in that you can't end it early, but it does have its own terminus."

"Three _days,"_ Roger moaned. "This is going to be torture. Did you know scarlet fever can make you hallucinate? Yeah. It can. Are we gonna hallucinate, Johnny? Are we?"

"Don't call me Johnny. And no." John scratched his chin. "Actually, I don't know. I'd imagine like any curse, the effects vary slightly from person to person..."

"What's being sick like?" Freddie asked, and Roger threw a pillow at him. "What! I'm not human, remember? One of the biggest advantages of being part-siren is that I can't catch any colds or flu or anything like that. Tell me, have you ever seen me with the sniffles?"

John offered him as dubious an expression as he was able to muster. "No. I guess not."

"There. See? So tell me."

"Miserable. You'll be miserable," Roger said. "It's gotta be three days?"

"It's how the spell works, I'm afraid," John sighed. "I do have some bad news. I'm going to need one of you to cast it on me. I can't hex myself."

Roger and Freddie pointed to each other at the same time.

John grunted, pushing the book across the desk to them. "It's not difficult. Look. I could do this in my sleep."

Roger's eyes nearly closed as he narrowed them at the page. "This wand movement looks like someone's directing a bloody opera with a 900-piece orchestra. What do you mean, 'not difficult'?"

"If I'm stuck as a girl because you two can't figure this out, I swear to Merlin, I'll curse you every day for the rest of my life. I'll give you both crocodile tails."

"That's not very motivational, dear," Freddie grumbled, picking up the book.

"Not trying to be motivational," John replied. "Trying to inspire fear. How'm I doing?"

"We're pretty much always afraid of you," Roger said, ruffling his hair. "What d'you think, Fred?"   
  
"I think I'll look rather fetching with a crocodile's tail," Freddie said, voice flat. "Let me see it."

John passed the book to him, upon which he hopelessly turned the spell on its side--and upside down--in order to study it. Whispering to himself, as if trying to figure out the intricacies in his mind, Freddie eventually said, "I can do it. You'll have to show me on Roger first, then I can try it on you. I don't want to try it when I'm already sick, after all--you can get me last." He squinted at the page. "This word, though..."

"It's all right. Say it a few times," John said. "You'll get the rhythm of it. _Febricitantem_."

"Oh, bloody hell. Feb. Irik--" He tripped over the word a few more times.

"No, here..."

John guided him through the pronunciation until he could say it properly. It took much longer to perfect the wand motion which, admittedly, was one of the most difficult any student had ever attempted. John figured if Brian could make a potion that even seasoned wizards struggled to make, though, then Freddie could master an intermediate spell like this one.

Roger tried, as well, with just as much interest. If John was being honest with himself, he would have trusted Roger with the spell, too. How long they'd come since they met the year before! Back then, John wouldn't have even trusted Roger to cast a simple _Lumos_ to help him find his way in the dark!

"What are you smiling for?" Freddie asked.

"Was I?" John asked. "Just thinking. We shouldn't put this off any longer."

"He's thinking about our kiss," Roger said, puckering up. John shoved him off the desk, while Freddie giggled.

"Ah, I'll miss this," Roger said. "It's back to our actual dorms after this, you know. No more sleepovers. No more solving a wretched mystery with no hope of escape."

"Where'd you learn the word 'wretched'?" Freddie asked.   
  
"Oh, John calls me that all the time," Roger said. "I finally looked it up. Good word, John."

"I do not," John muttered. "But you are. Are you ready?"

"He's suddenly in a hurry," Roger said. "Are--are you turning red, Deacon?"

With the patience of a saint, John sighed.

"All right, fine. I guess we shouldn't put it off any longer." Roger shoved his hands in his pockets, standing next to the desk. "You sure this'll work?"

Despite his confidence, John had to shake his head. "I have... high hopes. Better than high hopes. It's a solid theory. Putting all the bits and pieces together, this is _almost_ certainly the answer." He brandished his wand, ready for the first complicated motion. "You ready?"

Roger nodded. "Yep. Let's do this."

" _Febricitantem Calor_ ," John cast.

Roger bit his lip. "I don't feel nothin'."

"Give it a sec. Freddie?"

"Yeah, here we go..."

"Oh there it is," Roger said. His legs seemed to weaken under him as his face flushed red. He plopped down on the floor like a great lump. "Yeah, I feel it now."

"Shut _up,_ Rog!" Freddie snapped. "I don't want a bloody _tail._ Although it'd look fabulous with my scales..."

Paying little attention, Roger rolled over and mashed his face against the floor. "Shoulda packed ice," he whined.   
  
"Fred--" John started.  
  
Roger interrupted him with a mournful wail.

"Roger, I swear I'll curse you myself!" Freddie shoved him with a foot. "Shut up for ten seconds, would you?"

"Mm-hm," Roger cried.

With Freddie being nervous, John felt a good measure of trepidation, himself. "You can do it. You have it. I know you do," he said. Normally not one to offer free encouragement, he felt it best to bolster Freddie's confidence as much as humanly possible.

Freddie's determined smile kind of felt good to see.

Maybe, John thought, he should support his friends a little more often.

When Freddie cast the spell, it looked perfect. It _felt_ right. And a moment later, John felt his throat start to burn with the onset of illness. Before he lost his voice--which was apparently a possible effect of the spell according to Roger's miserable croaking as he rolled around on the floor--he cast the spell on Freddie, too.

"Auugh," Roger grumped, face still flat against the floor. "My _everything."_ He rolled over, staring upward as John shrugged out of his robe. He could already feel the uncomfortable sheen of sweat on his forehead; he didn't need to make it worse. And while he hated being uncovered while under the effects of Brian's transfiguration, he had other things to worry about at the moment. Like making himself as comfortable as possible.

He sat next to Roger, giving him a consoling pat as the Hufflepuff struggled to pull his sleeve out of his own robe, while muttering something completely unintelligible.

Abruptly, Roger ceased his struggles, his now-black eyes staring upward. John followed his gaze to Freddie, who still stood, staring blankly past them.

"Imagine never being sick," Roger chuckled. "Hey, Fred. Are you having some sort of epiphany up there? C'mon down on the floor with the rest of the sick rabble."

But Freddie continued staring.

Roger sat up. "Hey, Freddie. You all right?"

No response.  
  
Instead of turning red, Freddie's face displayed a sort of greenish sheen. It made sense, given his blood color, but the color was still alarming.

"Do you think the magic affects him differently--" Roger started.

Then Freddie fell, convulsing, onto the cold stone.  
  


\---

  
Darkness and fire closed in--two opposites working in perfect tandem, despite all their differences, within a nightmare hellscape. Tendrils crept through his brain--insidious eels, scratching at the inside of his skull--fighting with each other for the privilege of escape. And the thorns! Wrapped around every inch of his skin. Pressing... Pressing... Their razor edges bleeding him dry with each passing moment.

He escaped his prison at staggered points, his consciousness returning in a blurred fog as he struggled to keep his head above water. John and Roger existed in this semi-conscious state, though he couldn't say whether they were trapped in the horror with him, or whether they were trying to rescue him from it.

There were imps clawing at his stomach.

They meant to steal his voice!

But he wouldn't let them. By Merlin's fancy underpants, Freddie's voice was his and his alone!

He warned the others to cover their ears, because he absolutely meant to sing at the highest volume possible; then he could command the imps to take a long stroll off a short pier right into the fiery hell-lake. But after the first note--

Nothing.

No!

He tried to call out to the others, but his voice floated above him, a shining star in a dismal umber sky, out of his reach. It receded further and further into the murk until he couldn't even remember if it ever existed.

Hands grabbed at him, twining into his clothes and forcing the thorns deeper into his skin. He trembled, every inch of him caught in a vice of agony.

Voices. Hissing. Grinding. Ensnaring.

He had to get away.

Thrashing with the last of his energy, he made a weak attempt to bat the grasping talons away, feeling some small satisfaction when his hand struck home. His captor yelped and retreated, but there were half a dozen more hands that took its place.

He surfaced one final time, gasping against the sulfur stench above the pit, only to register a wavering command gliding through the ether: Knock him out.

The world cooled into bleak darkness.  
  


\---

  
It was still dark when Freddie opened his eyes, but a painful chill replaced the heat of before. The terror-world of the hallucination resolved itself into something more mundane--real memories he could process and understand--rather than the otherworldly hellscape.

But his memories returned full of holes.   
  
Roger and John, dragging him through the school.

Darkness.

Then, collapsing in the entry hall. Hands reaching for him...

He tried to say "where am I," but though he moved his lips, no words came out. Afraid, Freddie sat up so he could more easily spring to his feet; almost instantly, a hand pressed against his chest, shoving him back down.

What the _hell?_ Confused and terrified, his breathing quickened, his eyes widened as he tried to see through the dark.  
  
"Shh."

Roger?

The Hufflepuff snuggled against his chest, providing welcome warmth against the chill. "You were delirious," he said, voice barely audible. One eye opened, shimmering black in the low light. "You were about to start singing. Just one note and everyone there was--" he yawned, his explanation dying away. "Anyway, John silenced you before you hypnotized the whole school."

Freddie shivered again, and realized someone was curled up against his back, too. He tried to muster the energy to see who it was, but the effort proved too much. He looked to Roger for an explanation. "It's John," Roger said. "We were all cold, so... We figured you wouldn't mind."

Of course he didn't. For such a high fever, Freddie sure wished he had a whole lot more blankets, or a few more handsome blokes to snuggle against. If he wasn't so sick, he could have enjoyed his current position!

"Albatross clouds," Roger said, smiling. His breathing was labored, his eyes open and staring. The dark circles under them looked more like bruises than a lingering spell effect. "Remember, in Hogsmeade, you said..."

Freddie nodded.

"I've been thinking about it. I mean I wouldn't have been if I could sleep, but I can't, so I got to thinking... I thought it was all silly then. But you were right. Something happened."

He yawned again, his breath stinking of illness.

Freddie wrinkled his nose. Roger muttered an apology.

"Something big happened," Roger said. "But I think it's over now. In case you can't tell--'cuz I'm so pretty and all--it's working. It's definitely working."

Good. Freddie spared a relieved sigh.

"Your breath isn't so hot, either," Roger complained.

But Freddie barely cared. He hadn't even thought about the portent of the albatross clouds after they all changed. Maybe he could have done more to alter their course. Maybe he could have been more wary. Maybe, maybe, maybe...

Did it matter now?

"We got word to Brian," Roger said, his voice growing softer and softer as he drew nearer to sleep. "She knows we're here. And that we're okay. She was a little worried about the... Well. You know. The seizure and all--"

The end of Roger's statement devolved into a mumble which was too quiet to interpret.

Conversely, Freddie couldn't even begin to think about sleep. After the scare of waking up in the infirmary, he was wide awake, adrenaline coursing through him and directing him to _go._ Where? He had no idea. But he sat up again.

This time, an arm from the other side shoved him back down onto the mattress. Freddie turned his gaze to John's irritated eyes.

"Stay," John said. "Or I'll put you to sleep again. I'm too cold for you to be wandering off."

He sounded male again! Not entirely like himself, but heading in the right direction. And his features were much more recognizable. Freddie smiled.

And John smiled back. It was a comforting, warm smile, one Freddie wished he could pocket and look at every time he was having a rough day.

"I didn't realize the spell would affect you so badly." John's smile disappeared; Freddie wanted to shout for it to return, but his voice wouldn't cooperate! "When we got you here, Pomfrey insisted we stay, too. I mean, we each had our own beds at first, but..."

"I was cold. And it was John's idea," Roger muttered.

John grunted in vague agreement. "It'll be all right, Fred," he said. "It was hard enough getting Pomfrey not to give us anything to ease the symptoms. If everything looks right tomorrow, though, we can let her start fixing us up."

"Three days of this, though," Roger groaned.

"Three days," John agreed.

"I honestly don't know whether to say 'thanks' or 'fuck you,' John," Roger said.

"A little of both, I should think."

Freddie laughed silently. Closing his eyes, he snuggled down into the blankets, working one arm around each of his friends.


	21. Glowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Brian have a Heart-to-Heart.

John kept flipping between _hot as the surface of the sun_ and _colder than the most frigid night in Antarctica._ As the sun set outside the infirmary window, he found he couldn't even decide which state he was in anymore. His skin poured sweat, soaking his sheets, even as he shivered and dreamed of curling up next to a blazing fire.   
  
It's why he was currently back in his own bed and not cuddled up next to the others.   
  
When John peered over at Freddie and Roger, a light caught his eye. A silver glow; brilliant, like trailing fireflies and fairy lights, all wrapped in a dark gossamer fabric. He couldn't make out its form at first, as the apparition stopped near the front desk, leaning in to speak with the witch behind it.

Then John realized.

Brian.

Brian was silver.  
  
She was coming closer.

John sat up, automatically pulling the blanket over his bare chest without really thinking about the fact that he no longer had to. He wondered if his fever was causing him to hallucinate ghosts, but when he narrowed his eyes and concentrated, he realized that Brian really was glowing. Every inch of her shimmered under black robes, as if she was stealing the light from the absent moon.

"No. No! Go away, Brian!" John managed, desperate. It's not what he meant to say. It didn't convey the subtlety he meant to achieve, nor the purpose. But exhaustion seemed intent to claim his words.

Brian's face fell.

"No, that's--" John grunted, trying to force his brain into a semblance of consciousness. "S'not what I meant. You'll get sick. You'll..."

"Oh," Brian said. Her voice could have lulled John back to sleep. "No, I think it's okay. The book said the new moon locked the spell in, so, uh."

She gestured down at herself.

John's feet, against his wishes, kicked the blankets off. They crumpled to the floor, and he lacked the energy or the proper level of embarrassment to care. "So you're glowing."

"Yeah, I guess," Brian said. She smiled, giving John's chest a once-over. "You look good."

John barked a laugh, sliding down against his pillow so he could lay down again. "You mean I look _right."_ He paused to hack a glob of phlegm out of his lungs, which he spit at the floor despite Brian's curled lip and wrinkled nose. "You do, too."

Dizzy. He was dizzy. And little trails of lights from the aura of Brian's glow were swirling around his head...

"Are you okay?" Brian asked.

"Noooooo--" John sang, the note ending with a short peal of laughter. "Oh, Brian. I've never felt worse. Was it worth it? I dunno. I think I'm a boy again, but sometimes I hallucinate this giant demon sitting on my chest, and I wonder..."

Brian laughed. Nervously.

"I'll be fine," John reassured. "It's only a couple more days. I think." He squinted. "I'm honestly not sure what time means anymore."

Brian didn't answer. In fact, she got so quiet than John assumed she left--at least, that's the feeling he got from the short hallucination wherein she elevated herself right through the ceiling and into the muggle fantasy world of Narnia.

John had just about managed to fall asleep again when Brian asked, "Are you still angry?"

He grunted. "Well _now_ I am. You woke me up."

"Oh," she replied. "Well, good. This is important."

John grunted again. "Good that I'm angry?"

"No." Brian dragged a chair over to John's bed, the soft puddering of the feet echoing like thunder in the quiet infirmary. She sat down. John turned as much as his weak state would allow to face her, shielding his eyes against the pale glow.

Then, silence.

John desperately wanted to close his eyes and sleep in the narrow window between which he was accursedly hot and painfully frozen. He knew the two of them had to have this talk, though, and as much as he wished it could have been after he recovered, at least they had privacy here. He draped his arm over the side of the bed, dragging the errant sheet back over his hips. "D'you want me to start, then?" he asked.

"Oh, shut up a minute," Brian said. "I'm thinking."   
  
"Like you haven't been thinking about it all day." John managed a smile, attempting to reach out one hand to take Brian's. Gravity pulled it down before it reached its goal, and it thumped against the box spring.

Just as well, he supposed. He didn't want to get her sick.

"I just can't believe I couldn't figure it out _the whole time,"_ Brian said. "And as soon as you hear me say one little thing--" She railed off, shaking her head.

"You're supposed to start with an apology," John said.

"You really should have been a Ravenclaw." Brian crossed her arms, scowling.

"It was more than just the _one thing._ " John pushed himself up on one elbow, though his whole body shook with the effort. "And you know I couldn't be a Ravenclaw. I'm too much of an arse to be a Ravenclaw."

"I really am sorry," Brian said. "Truly, John. If you hadn't figured it out, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself. And--" Brian held up a hand as John started to speak. "And the more I think about it, the more I wish I would have just told you all from the beginning. But I thought I could fix it in time, and that you'd never have to know. I didn't want you to... uh. I just... I thought I--"

"You didn't want us to know you fucked up."

"To put it bluntly. Yes."

"You're not perfect. None of us are."

"I know," Brian muttered. "But I'm supposed to have all the answers. If they come from books, I'm supposed to know them. I should have been able to find... _Logically,_ with as much work as we did, I should have been able to locate the proper--"

"And that's why you're a Ravenclaw and I'm a Slytherin," John said. "Sure, part of it's 'cuz the founders were a little racist." He relaxed onto his back again, closing his eyes. "But a lot of it's 'cuz you get all your answers from books, and I can pull answers from _between_ the books."

"Between the books," Brian repeated.

"But yeah, you should have told us from the start."

"You would have been angry--"

"A little!" John admitted. "But it was an honest mistake, wasn't it? Look, if we had access to everything you did right from the start, we all could have gotten out of this mess a whole lot sooner. Or." He'd been doing some thinking on this, too... On the way fate played its games and outcomes all depended on a very particular order of events. He tended not to believe in fate, but the more he lay awake, fever burning away the last tendrils of the Role Reversal spell, he wondered if they would have written all those letters, or if Freddie would have paid attention in charms class as he had. If they would have snuck into the library at midnight, or if Roger would have gone with him to the Quincentennial Ball. Or...

"Or?" Brian prompted.

"Or maybe things happened exactly the way they were supposed to."

"That's... surprisingly magnanimous, coming from you."

John chuckled. "One thing I do have to know, though. Why was your book missing from the library?"

"I was... Covering all my bases," Brian said. "If you found it, you might have suspected..."

"So you checked it out. You're an idiot, May."

Brian rubbed the back of her head, smiling. "So you've said before."

"Have you told your House yet?" John asked.

Brian looked at her hands. "I did. I guess it went well. There's a few people who... Don't get it. Who _won't_ get it, I guess. One bloke walked out. I thought he was mad, but then he came back with a book from the library to educate the others on gender studies from ancient Greece. And the girls from my year are being pretty nice about the whole thing. It's... It's a bit awkward, really. But I think it'll even itself out.

"I don't have the right kind of clothes, though," Brian went on. "There's some things I didn't think much about because of..."

"Trying to get everything back to normal."

"Right. I have the one set of robes McGonagall got for me. And Roger thinks he can charm some of my clothes so they fit right..."

"Brian," John interrupted.

"Mm?"

"What would you have done if you solved it? If you figured out how to change us all back. Would you have told us then, or would you have cured yourself?"

Brian said nothing for a long time. "I don't know."

"I guess I'm glad it worked out how it did, then."

"You were so angry..." Brian scooted the chair a little closer, leaning on the edge of the bed. John had to squeeze his eyes shut to block out her glow. "I don't know if we could have stopped you before you transfigured your housemates. How can you be glad?"

She sounded as if she was on the verge of tears. And truly, John would have gone down an irrecoverable path if he turned his fellow Slytherins into stone statues. All he could think about was revenge, though, even if the thing he was most angry about wasn't even their fault. Considering it now, he was appalled. And if he'd gone through with it, he would have been just as upset with himself afterward.

"I talked to Pomfrey about it," John said. "While Roger and Freddie were asleep." He glanced over at them, snoring softly under their blankets. "I told her what I'd planned to do, and how I almost... Almost made a huge mistake. She wasn't mad. She was worried, but she said that sometimes people from certain wizarding lines have traces of--I don't remember how she put it. There were bad people in my past, though. Dark magic..."

"Shit, John--"

"My mom showed the same sort of temper. Pomfrey remembers. She's going to get me some help."

"I don't know what to say, John..."

"I do." He forced himself to sit up, even through the dizziness. "You fucked up, Bri. But at least you had good intentions. Me? I was prepared to do to you what I was going to do to my Housemates. It was only for a second, but I thought it. I could picture casting the runes around you. I could--" He shivered from head to toe. "I came to my senses a second later, but... Who thinks about hurting their friends like that?"

He tried to keep his voice from trembling. "And, uh. I'm sorry I hit you."

John could only look her in the eyes for a moment, but he could see her pity. He hated it, but at least she wasn't disgusted or afraid; far from it, in fact. She stood, maneuvering between the chair and the bed until she was sitting next to him. Despite the fact that his skin still glistened with sweat, Brian looped her arm around his shoulders.

"You'll get sick," he warned.

"Maybe, she said. "But c'mon, Deaky. You know someone deserved to hit me. I'm not gonna let you tell me I didn't deserve at least that."

John couldn't help a smile. "After putting us through two months of... Whatever the hell that was? Yeah. You did. Roger and Freddie were just too nice to deck you."

Brian laughed. "And Pomfrey put the tooth back, good as new."

"I shoulda kept it as a trophy."

Brian shook him. "No. Bad."  
  
He chuckled. "Anyway, how do you feel? Other than glowing?"

"Scared," Brian replied. "I know this is what I wanted. But now just knowing that there's no turning back, and that the rest of the school's going to see that you and Rog and Freddie are fine... They might wonder..." 

"Well, let 'em," John said, aware somewhere on the periphery of his consciousness that he was slurring his words. "I'll hex 'em all."

"We just got done talking about your anger problem."

"That's not anger. That's righteous fury." Snuggling down into his pillow, he finally found the _perfect_ comfortable position, and sleep started to overtake him. "No one'll mess with you, Bri."

"You're a little scary sometimes," she said.

John turned just a bit, resting his head against Brian's shoulder. "I'm pretty sure that's why you guys keep me around."  
  


\---  
  
  
"No," Freddie said. "That's not it at all. That's not it. Listen." He stuffed a forkful of meat pie into his mouth; a smattering of leftover scales on his cheek glittered as he chewed.

Brian wondered if he'd have them forever.

"It's more like a festival," Freddie went on. "On the beach. In the UK. In. December." Pulling a face, Freddie gestured absently with his fork and shivered. "There's a fire. All Da's relatives come out of the ocean for a bit, and Gramma asks him why he's still playing with his food instead of dragging her to the ocean floor like a proper siren. And then Da says, 'no, gram-gram, that's my wife, and this is my son and--' Okay, so I _guess_ it's still an awkward family gathering, but it's not Christmas. There's no presents."

"What's the point then?" Roger asked. "Why are you even excited?"

"Are you kidding?" Freddie arched his eyebrows, fixing Roger with an incredulous stare. "Why, it's time away from _here,_ isn't it? Away from John and his temper..."

John glanced upward from his anger management book for a fraction of a second, offering an insincere mock salute.

"And you and your _interesting stenches,_ Roger."

Still sitting in his Quidditch uniform from the earlier game, Roger beamed. His yellow jumper was almost black from the amount of mud caked onto it.

"And finally, Brian and her dastardly science experiments. Oh dear," Freddie added, his voice flat. "Is it too early to joke about that, darling? I always forget."

Brian rolled her eyes. "For everyone else, maybe."

Freddie scowled.   
  
All Brian could do was shrug, going back to poking at the food on her plate. She found herself increasingly lacking an appetite lately.

"That was supposed to be a joke," Freddie said.

"Yes. Haha, very funny," Brian replied. "It's true, though, isn't it? If anyone has the right to needle me about it, it's you three."

Freddie's scowl deepened. Before he could say anything, though, John piped up with "What the _hell_ is _wizard meditation?"_

Reaching across the table, Roger grabbed the book. With a helpless toss of his hands, John let him have it.

"I'm not even sure what _muggle_ meditation is, let alone any other kind," Roger said, flipping a couple pages. His nose crinkled. "John, I’m not sure any dark history in your past warrants this kind of torture."

Glad for the distraction, Brian said, "We can't encourage him to seek help, and then tell him it's not worth it when he does. Let me see that." Taking the book from Roger, she studied the illustrations. "Although, honestly, this is just _meditation_ with the word _wizard_ stuck in front of it, probably so purebloods don't freak out over it. No offense, John."

"Offense taken. Not at you," John reached for the book and flipped it shut. "At this book for thinking I'm a complete idiot." After studying the cover for a moment, he said, "I wonder if my parents have any idea of... Why I'm like this."

"You can ask when you go home for holidays," Roger said, beaming. "Then you can tell all of us, 'cuz we all really want to know if you've got lethifolds or something in your family tree."

"Oh, you can't have a _lethifold_ in your lineage! They're barely corporeal. Besides, they're not considered _beings,_ like sirens." Brian nodded to Freddie. "They're very much not capable of reproducing with a human."   
  
"I said _or something,"_ Roger argued, sticking out his tongue. "Maybe it's dementors."

Everyone groaned at once. John threw a bit of waffle at him.

"While I'd be thrilled not to be the only half-breed at Hogwarts," Freddie said, "I highly doubt John's got any non-human relatives. Can't we consider the fact that maybe he's just a very angry little Slytherin and be done with it?"

It was John's turn to open his mouth to say something, only for nothing to come out. In the end, he just shrugged and gestured at Freddie in a way that suggested he absolutely agreed.

"Fine, fine," Roger said, smiling sweetly. " _Do_ ask your mum and dad, though, won't you?"

John threw another piece of waffle at him. "I've got better things to do with my holidays."

"Cursing babies and the like, I get it," Roger said. Before John could protest, he added, "What're you doing, Bri?"

Brian did _expect_ to be asked the question about what she planned to do with her holidays, although she hoped it would come just a little closer to Christmas so the others didn't have as much time to change her mind. "Well, I think I'm going to stay here at Hogwarts."

To her, the decision made absolute sense. She was still coming to terms with the fact that everyone now knew her secret, even though she meant for the world to think her transformation was one grand, terrible accident. And while her schoolmates seemed to accept her with various levels of enthusiasm, she couldn't say the same for her family, who were muggles through and through.

"You can't _stay,"_ Roger said. "You'll miss presents."

"Holidays aren't all about presents!" Freddie spat. "It's about family--"

"And mine won't get it," Brian interrupted. "Let's just say they're pretty conservative when it comes to stuff like me being transgender."

"You can't know that for sure," Freddie said.

"Oh. You don't know her parents." Roger offered Brian a kind, but pitying glance. "They aren't exactly the... best... sort--sorry, Brian. I'm not a fan."

Brian nodded. "I love them. Really. But this is one meeting I'm not looking forward to. And even if they suspect something's wrong, they won't be able to come here and get me, will they? I'll... I'll be safe."

"Until summer," John said.

John and his rational brand of thinking. He was right, of course. Eventually, Brian would have to face her family, but a very prominent part of her mind encouraged her to put it off as long as she could. Every time she thought about her decision to stay at school over the holiday, she felt such intense relief it became harder and harder to consider the alternative. Especially because if things went badly, Brian wouldn't know what to do.

"Until summer," Brian agreed. "But that'd still give me more time to think about what to say."

"Well, look," Roger said "Owl your parents. Tell them my mum and dad will drive you home from King's Cross, all right? Then I'll come in with you." He stood up, taking Brian around one arm.

"What, now?" Brian asked.

"Yeah, I think. It's only a couple weeks 'til Christmas. And... Whatever the heck Freddie's weird siren festival is."

Freddie bristled. "It's not _weird."_

"Freddie's perfectly normal siren festival, then. C'mon. To the owlery."

With another tug, Roger had Brian to her feet.

"Wait a sec," John said.

Brian had no sooner turned back around then she was hit with a spell. She worried only for a moment, though, before she realized she'd grown fur all over. The temperature in the room immediately climbed to near-unbearable.

"Oh," Freddie said. "Look at that. It's curly."

"You look like a poodle," Roger added.

Brian stared at John, who smiled. "We're all feeling better," he said. "And I did warn you."

"...Well--" Brian looked down at herself, at the curled, dark fur sticking out from the ends of her sleeves. "How long is this supposed to last?"

"Not a couple months," John answered, and then went back to his breakfast.

As Roger led her away, he said, "Knowing John, you got off easy."

Brian agreed.


	22. Home(less)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go even worse than planned.

Roger's dad turned the radio dial all the way to the right, at which point the speakers emitted nothing but static.

"Oh, Merlin's star-spangled trousers," Mr. Taylor said. "How many times to I have to-- _Yes._ I agree to the terms and disclaimers associated with the... Uh..."

"Wizarding Radio Network," Roger supplied.

"Yes, that," Mr. Taylor said.

It took a moment, but the static congealed into sounds, which then resolved into music, and soon, they had the London area station for the WRN.

"Celestina Warbeck?" Roger sneered. "They still play her?"

"I happen to like Warbeck," Mr. Taylor said.

For the tenth time, Roger's mom turned around to offer Brian a sympathetic smile.

The days leading up to Christmas holidays passed way too quickly for Brian's comfort, and yet the car ride home seemed to take forever. From the moment she got on the train, all she could think about was getting the whole messy situation with her parents over with. They knew nothing about what transpired at Hogwarts, and Brian knew nothing about how they'd react when she finally faced them.

"Why do you even turn the station off?" Roger asked.

"In case muggles steal the car."

"The alarm system, dear," Mrs. Taylor said. "It won't start if you or I aren't in the driver's seat. Remember?"

"Muggles are resourceful," Mr. Taylor said, as if that explained everything.

Mrs. Taylor gave Brian another sympathetic glance.

To say Roger's family was surprised would be an understatement. They understood well enough, even if they were confused. And even if they asked rather uncomfortable questions. They were nice enough, though, which meant more than they could have possibly understood. It bolstered Brian's confidence.

"It was the timing," Brian said, trying to keep the trembling out of her voice. They were in familiar territory now. She recognized the street names. "To, uh. Answer your question from earlier. Just... had to think about it."

Roger laughed. "The girls in her house _loved_ the fur. I mean, I guess they felt sorry for her a bit. It kind of..."

"Eased the transition," Brian said, smiling. "They were so busy being angry at John that they sort of... forgot that I..."

"Then it all fell out at once," Roger said. "In the Great Hall. At Breakfast."

Brian turned red. Not her best moment. John sure looked triumphant, though.

"Are you sure this is what you want, dear?" Roger's mom asked for at least the third time. Brian could barely keep count anymore.

"Olivia," Mr. Taylor warned.

"It's okay, Sir. Ma'am." Brian looked at her hands. "It is. I've... Thought about it a long time. Years, actually. I've known... I've known since before I met Roger."

"Well, you just... Take care of yourself," Mrs. Taylor said. She met Brian's eyes in the mirror, and Brian nodded.

They pulled onto Brian's quiet, ordinary street, in a quiet, ordinary suburb, with its quiet, ordinary street lamps and leafless trees. Rain started pattering on the roof of the car; tiny bits of sleet rolled down the windows. Brian never used to put much stock in environmental cues as portents, but since Freddie's albatross clouds, she couldn't help finding the weather to be a bad sign.

And finally, they pulled into Brian's driveway.

"We'll just be a few," Roger said, his eyes meeting Brian's. They were black now, given the time of night, but they still contained a relaxing, warm compassion that spoke volumes. "I just wanna make sure everything's all right."

Roger's mom took the statement as another opportunity to stare at Brian as she replied, "Take as long as you need."

They stepped out of the car into the sleet and rain. Cold, Brian pulled her jacket more tightly around her, cursing herself for neglecting to wear just a few more layers. But she hadn't been thinking about the brutal British winters as she readied herself to leave Hogwarts. Her muggle parents would be expecting their _son_ to return home on this stormy December day, and their range of possible reactions--both positive and negative--occupied all Brian's thoughts.

"Sorry about my parents," Roger said as they walked up the path. No one had bothered to put salt down to melt the ice, so they stepped carefully.

"No, no, they're fine, it's fine," Brian said, smiling. "If my folks react even half that well, I'll be thankful."

"You sure you're ready? We could just go to my house an' call your folks from there. Tell 'em you're sick and you're staying at my place 'cuz you need some of dad's healing chicken noodle soup."

Roger nearly toppled backward on the slippery walk. Brian caught him, and they locked eyes again.

None of this was a particularly good sign.

"I'm sure," Brian said.

She wasn't sure. But they were here. For better or worse, they might as well get it over with.

They stood at the door under the awning, the rain pattering down above them. Christmas lights blinked in the window; through the curtains, Brian could see the outline of the tree. "If I tell them now, they have the whole second semester to get used to the idea," Brian said, speaking both to Roger and herself. Standing this close, though, she felt terror as cold as the falling ice. It felt nothing like when she told her friends, or even Roger's parents. It felt...

Darker.

Roger turned, staring up into the blustery sky. "You see any albatross clouds or...?"

"Pretty sure that's a Freddie thing," Brian replied. Taking Roger around one arm, she kicked at the doormat, sending shards of ice scattering on the cement around them.

"Well, you could tell 'em that you're still workin' on a cure," Roger said. "They don't know how that transfiguration works, do they? I mean, they don't know how any magic works. Muggles. Y'know."  

That was tempting, and of course she'd considered it. If she told her parents that it was an accident, and that the finest minds in the wizarding community were working on a cure, maybe it would soften the revelation. But then they'd always think of her as a boy... Their poor son who met the worst of magic and ended up stuck as a girl.

As John said, things worked out as they did for a reason. Had they gone as she originally planned, she'd be trapped in the lie for the rest of her life. And now... Now it was important that her parents knew the truth. "No," she finally answered. "It's all right."

"Because I know your parents, mate," Roger said with a pointed look. He arched one eyebrow, obsidian eyes catching the glow from the lights. "This magic stuff scares 'em. They're muggles through and through. When they first saw my eyes, they freaked out. Even _after_ we told them what happened."

Plus, they'd forbidden John to ever set foot in the house. Brian had yet to tell John.

"I'm a muggle," Brian said.   
  
"You're muggle- _born,"_ Roger corrected. "And you love this stuff. Look, remember when I told you about me, and magic? Back before you knew about _you?_ How'd you react?"

Brian sighed. "I was jealous."

"Then you got your bloody letter. And you were--"

"Thrilled," Brian said. "Look, my parents are just set in their ways. They need time to get used to things." She raised her hand to knock on the door.

Roger grabbed her wrist. "You're knocking? You _live here."_

"Yeah, but..." Brian started, but she really had no argument. Walking in just felt wrong, as if she wasn't standing in front of the very house she lived in her whole life. Grasping at straws, she tried, "It's late. The train was late because of the weather. They must have been expecting me earlier. I don't want them to think someone's breaking in."

Roger pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. Letting go of her wrist, he stepped back and crossed his arms.

Looking at the ground, Brian held her hand up again, hesitating. Her heart hammered. Her knees felt weak.

She knocked.

Her fight-or-flight reaction, which usually encouraged her to stand her ground, now begged her to run away, jump into the Taylors' warm car, and scream at them to escape into the night. Forcing herself to stay, she dug her nails into her palms, counting the excruciatingly long seconds before the door opened.

Flocked violet slippers appeared at the threshold. With confused surprise, Brian's mother uttered a non-verbal question, then added, "Come in! Come in. Get out of the cold." She stepped aside, ushering them inside as she looked past them to the car in the drive. "And Roger's here, too. All right."

Brian hugged her jacket even closer, wrapping her arms around her chest.

Hiding.

"We thought we'd startle you if we just barged in," Roger said, his voice almost too jolly. "It's, ah... A bit late, isn't it?"

"Yes, dinner went cold an hour ago," Brian's mother complained, as if the delay was Brian's fault. She closed the door. "But it can't be helped, can it? Trains still run late, even with... _magic._ "

She spat the word as if she thought it all to be a huge joke. A fairy tale. An illusive projection of Brian's imagination.

"Take off your shoes," her mum said. "I'll fetch your father from the den."

She bustled away.

Roger nudged Brian with his shoulder. "We can't stand in the doorway. C'mon."

"If I take off my coat, they'll--"

"Then don't. It's all right."

She nodded. Standing on the welcome mat as if it were her entire world, she stepped out of her shoes.

This felt wrong. It all felt wrong. But before she could decide what to do with herself, the floor creaked just down the hall from the direction of the den. Her father's ponderous footsteps approached, and then there he was, more imposing than ever, in the living room, towering over them. His silver, curly hair could have brushed the ceiling if he stood on his tiptoes.

He neither offered a handshake for Roger, nor a hug for Brian, even though they hadn't seen each other since September. "Happy Christmas," he said. "Glad to see you're well. And Roger's here, too."

"I did tell you," Brian's mum said. She leaned over and whispered, "Don't stare at his eyes. Brian says it's a _curse."_

She also said the word 'curse' as if it were something rotten, like a dead rat.

Brian's father chuckled in a way that suggested he didn't find that funny at all. "Right. Well. I hope you've gotten your learning done. If you can call it that!" He chuckled again, motioning for them to step inside. For anyone who didn't know him, they would have found the gesture a little stiff, but still welcoming. "Magic and sleight of hand and voo-doo. Hah! When I was your age, I was learning how to do my taxes! Maybe you can show us a few tricks, eh?" 

"Actually, sir," Roger said, speaking for Brian, since she currently seemed unable to speak for herself. "Since there's no magic users in the house, there's a rule against underaged sorcery--"

Brian's dad waved him off. "It is what it is. Why are you standing in the doorway? Come on. Ellen's made a pie that should be reasonably cooled by now! Much like our pheasant. Had such a nice aroma in the oven--what are you waiting for?"

Brian still hadn't moved. She couldn't.

"Bri, maybe we should sit down," Roger muttered.

It would have been a good idea, had Brian's mother not noticed something amiss. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

Brian felt like her heart intended to break through her ribcage and go for a little jog. Her pulse was almost painful in its intensity.

"Brian," her mother said again. Someone else might mistake her tone for concern, but Brian regarded it as a warning.

Desperate to escape, or at least delay her news as long as possible, Brian started shuffling toward the adjacent sitting area, with its plastic-covered couches and brand-new plasma TV which was rarely even turned on. She only made it a half dozen steps before her father grabbed her shoulder. Automatically, she looked up, and both her parents jerked back as if they'd been shocked.

Dressed in her coat and baggy jeans, Brian could hide her body, but her face had minute structural differences now that made her quite obviously female. Though still recognizable, she was no longer their _son,_ and they knew it.

Her mother clutched her chest.

"Did that Deacon kid do this to you?" her father demanded.

She felt Roger's hand on her shoulder, the only warm spot within the chill that had descended upon the living room. "It's all right," he said.

It would have been easy to lie. To use Roger's excuse--or any other excuse Brian managed to think of between Hogwarts and King's Cross--and avoid the brunt of this conversation. Just a little more time to think about how to tell her parents the right way would have been such a blessing.

But there was no more time. Her silence already got her parents thinking; clearly they were drawing their own conclusions. She had to say something.

"No," Brian said, her voice surprisingly strong despite her fear. "I did it."

No one said anything.

Her decision hung in the air like a building thunderstorm. She could feel the threads of every choice she could have made spreading out before her, like infinite alternate universes where the outcomes of her actions ranged from desolate to prosperous and everything in between. She tried to nudge the cords of fate toward something more favorable, but she already knew where her path would lead. She'd known all along.

Her father scowled. "Well, un-do it," he said.

Brian loved her father. She always thought of him as stern, but fair. Perhaps she'd been deluding herself, though. Thinking back on some of his actions--some of his beliefs--from her fourteen years of life made her question his sincerity. And with the way he was looking at her now, she couldn't help questioning whether he loved her at all, or whether he was just in love with the idea of having progeny.

Just now, he'd discovered rather abruptly that Brian wouldn't carry on his ideals, and she couldn't find the words to express her dismay.

"Uh..." Roger managed, his voice cracking. "Sorry, I know this is more of a family thing--"

"Quite right," Brian's father spat.

"It's just that I've known Brian for a long time--not as long as you!" He amended when Brian's father seemed ready to explode at the _very idea_ that Roger knew Brian longer. "But friends... You know, they convey things to their friends that they might not tell family. So maybe you haven't noticed that Brian's always been--well, she--"

" _He,"_ her father snapped, as if he'd been waiting to pounce as soon as Roger used the wrong word.

To Roger's credit, perhaps to prevent the argument from slipping onto another track, he chugged onward without acknowledging the slight. "Brian's always sort of identified as--"

" _No,"_ Brian's mum said, with a wave of her hand. "We shouldn't have let him go to that _school._ This is what happens! He's got these ideas in his head now. How long is it going to take to undo this, Carl?" She looked up at Brian's dad, who nodded stiffly. "And how many other kids decide they want to do shit like this? To use magic to--"

"It's not magic!" Brian interrupted. "Well, it... That's how I--But the point is, I've wanted this for a long time. I just... I had a way to do it, is all."

"She managed a spell that no one else at her age coulda done!" Roger piped up, stepping forward. "It's incredible, sir, ma'am! Honestly it is. You should be proud!"

But Brian's father wasn't listening. "You're fourteen," he said. "You need to consult your parents before you make a decision this stupid. We could have gotten you some _help."_

"Help!" Roger spat. "You can't possibly think she's sick!"

"Of course he is!" Brian's dad gestured to her like he was tossing a bit of garbage away. "Look at him!"

The argument continued. Threats centering around Roger never being allowed in the house again circled in and out of Brian's ears, but she no longer paid attention. She couldn't believe it all went this badly so quickly. What could she have done differently? Maybe written a letter beforehand, or--

"Brian, go to your room. We'll sort this out later," her dad demanded.

She couldn't.

He still wasn't listening.

She wasn't going to stay here. "I'm going home with Rog," she said.

Her mother's eyes grew so huge with rage that they looked like they were about to pop out of her head. Her father's face was so red that he looked like a tomato.

"Mom. Dad. I'm a girl," Brian said. "And I..."

Her dad wrapped one hand around Brian's shoulder, squeezing so much harder than he needed to. Brian squealed in protest, but he was already turning her around, opening the door. With one swift motion, he shoved Brian out into the cold; she turned around only to see him putting his boot right in the middle of Roger's back.

He kicked.

Roger collided with Brian, and they both fell to the icy walkway in a tangle of legs and scarves. Before they could right themselves, a shoe went hurtling from the house over their heads. After it landed, it slid the rest of the way down the path and came to rest in a snowbank.

Roger grunted as the other shoe crashed into the back of his head.

The door slammed behind them.

"No--" Roger muttered. He untangled himself and struggled to his feet. Charging the door, he pounded both fists against it, shouting obscenities into the night. Some of the neighbors turned their porchlights on and gawked out their front windows as Roger yelled, "This is your _daughter,_ you son of a _bitch!"_

Brian's own porchlight flicked off, leaving only the glow of the Christmas fairy lights by which to see.

How could this happen?

She couldn't move. Surely her family didn't lack even the barest modicum of human compassion! Surely she wasn't sitting outside her front door as rain seeped through her trousers and chilled her right to the bone. It must have been a dream.

Roger rapped on the door another dozen times before giving up. He turned around, holding out his hand.

Brian felt too numb to take it.

"Brian," Roger said.

She waited to wake up, snug in her bed. Maybe at Hogwarts, before all this happened. Where the people she told either accepted her or didn't outright dismiss her. Didn't toss her out into the cold...

"Brinnie," Roger said.

Brian looked up.

"Yeah," Roger said. "It's... A nickname I've been thinking about. You know, since you don't want to change your name, I thought..." He reached down and took her hand. "I was gonna save it 'til later, but I just need you to snap out of it so I can get you to the car. C'mon."

Brian let him help her up. Her shoulder ached, and her elbow also didn't feel too great. She must have hit it on the pavement when she fell.

They walked to the car in silence.


	23. Friends Will Be Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The others come to Brian's rescue.

Brian hardly said a word the rest of the night, then wouldn't come to breakfast the next morning.

Which was why, precisely twenty-seven hours after Brian's family kicked her out, they were taking a portkey to Freddie's home on the cold, British ocean.

Roger tried to remember how it all happened. It started with an owl to Freddie, he was sure. And then a few hours later, Freddie and John appeared uninvited in the Taylor fireplace... Along with Freddie's mum. And a boot.

"There just wasn't enough time to send an owl, darling," Freddie said. His mother gave him the side-eye as Roger's mum offered them all a spot of tea.  
  
And Roger joked, while his family all sat around in their nightclothes, that he was glad wizards had a _floo_ network and not a _loo_ network.

As it turned out, Freddie had an Idea, and refused to be dissuaded. When he saw the part in Roger's letter lamenting the fact that Brian would have no presents under the tree, he knew what had to be done.

Subsequently, Freddie's mother made a portkey out of an old boot and apparated from house to house, collecting all Freddie's friends. Once she had them all, she activated the portkey to take them all home at the same time.

Which led to them all standing outside in the cold, as spray from the ocean instantly turned their clothes into soppy, salty rags. The house loomed over them, built half on sand and half on solid ground, though it inexplicably stood through tide and storm and wind and hail and everything else nature could throw at it.

Pale, weak light shown out through the gaps in the driftwood planks, though Freddie assured them that the inside was as warm and cozy as Hogwarts. He _promised._

Roger had his doubts.

"Well! Everyone inside," Mrs. Mercury said. She had a beautiful accent. Lilting and flowery and proud. "Don't need you all sick, do we? Go on!"

Freddie motioned for them to follow. Despite Roger's fears that the old house would collapse on them at the slightest touch, he followed Freddie up the rickety old stairs. Opening the door, Freddie led them inside.

And it was baffling. In fact, Roger was so disoriented--as if someone dropped a boulder on his head--that he would have backed right outside again had Freddie's mum not gently guided him back in.

There were no cracks in the walls leading out into the starry night. It still had a very nautical air--the walls were still comprised of blueish driftwood--but they were sealed and beautiful and cozy, hung with family portraits and intricate scribblings in chalk. Possibly from Freddie's younger sister, Roger imagined. It was all quite _busy_ and homey, furnished with a handful of sofas that didn't really match, although it was clear they were selected for their unique patterns and out of love. A spiral staircase led up, up, up unto the higher floors.

"How..." Roger managed.

"Muggle deterrent!" Freddie said, cheerful. "No one pays attention to the old shack. And if any muggle gets too close, the secondary kicks in."

"The secondary?" Roger asked. He looked over his shoulder at John, also staring in uncharacteristic wonder, as Brian stared at the floor.

Freddie's mom shut the door. "It's charmed so that anyone who comes too close without being invited thinks it's haunted," she said. "A spell of my own devising. It's worked well for us."

"Is there electricity?" asked John, squinting up at the lights.

Roger cupped a hand around his ear. He was sure he heard...

"Da likes to watch television," Freddie explained. "So we're kind of... _stealing_ from the muggles. They don't mind. Not like they can get close enough to shut it off."

But there were no wires, or towers, or any other sort of civilization anywhere close to the beach shack that Roger could remember. He should be used to this sort of thing by now, he supposed, being that his family was half muggle and half wizard. Still, the ways wizard families manipulated their environment to fit their own set of standards always amazed him.

"Are you home, Shefali?"

The voice, clearly male but quite otherworldly, came from the same direction as the sound from the television. Gentle footsteps fell upon the old floor, which creaked in an almost musical manner as the siren--Freddie's full-blooded father--peeked around the doorframe.

Roger always expected a sea monster, but he had a gentle face. His pale peach visage was riddled with shimmering green scales, which disappeared into black hair.

And he had fins. Everywhere. Roger looked down at the siren's feet, which were almost comically large, the webbing between his toes almost blending in with the floorboards.

"Guys, this is my da," Freddie said.

Roger, being the closest, held out his hand. He meant to introduce himself, but what he actually said was, "Sir, have you ever killed anyone?"

Freddie paled.

It was John who reached forward, cupping his hand around Roger's mouth. "Sorry, sir," John said. "He's an idiot."

Freddie's father chuckled. "Don't worry, I haven't," he said, tilting his head. "You've got to be Roger."

Roger nodded, struggling against John's hold. John refused to release him until Roger managed to sink his incisors into one of the folds on the hand in front of his mouth. With a yelp and a barely-repressed expletive, John shoved him away.

"Guys, cool it, Freddie muttered. You're _embarrassing._ Did you know? I can't take any of you anywhere. Brian?" Freddie tried. "This is my da. Brian?"

Brian continued staring at the floor, even though she often spoke about wanting to meet Freddie's family. It wasn't often that someone interested in magical creatures and beings got to meet one of the unique denizens of the sea.

As if carried on air, Freddie's dad stepped forward, one webbed hand resting on Brian's shoulder. "It's all right. My name is Echo. Perhaps we speak later?"

Brian nodded.

She never looked up.

The sun was just starting to rise as they settled all the way up on the fourth floor of the house. As John questioned the logic or reasoning behind any house having four floors with only four people living in it, Freddie said, "It's for just this particular occasion, darling!" And refused to entertain the idea that it was overkill.

It was unfurnished, but warm. Freddie's parents provided them with dozens of blankets and cushions on which to sleep. And when Freddie's sister woke, she questioned all of them, and made sure they all knew that her dad's _real_ name was _Echelaa,_ but the humans found it easier to shorten _everything._

"And what's your name?" Freddie interrupted, looking down his nose.

"Joy. But it's not _my_ fault I got a human name, _Sparkle-cheeks."_

Clearly, she appreciated the new décor across Freddie's face. Presently, Freddie shooed her out so they could, as he put it, _make plans._

As Brian lay on the floor, staring up through the skylight, Freddie and Roger put up a small tree in the center of the room. It was pink instead of Green, because this wasn't a _Christmas_ celebration, Freddie said. It was a celebration of their friendship and of new beginnings and of Brian... and then Roger smacked him upside the head and told him to _stop being so soppy._

"Are you crying, dear?" Freddie asked.

Roger said he was, but only because Freddie was being such a sentimental fool!  
  
Meanwhile, John sent a couple owls to Diagon Alley to bring back a small dinner for the occasion. When the owls returned with presents, too, he explained that he'd sent a message to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, explaining that he'd have his family cancel their entire enterprise if they didn't send back a couple nice surprises for each of them.

To make up for the love potion, he explained.

As they sat around the tree sharing snacks, John also admitted that he sent them a galleon as well, though he was loathe to admit it.

"Ah, he's learning," Freddie said, swirling a bit of turkey around in the gravy at the bottom of a near-empty tin. "Not so angry anymore, then?"

"No, he still is." Brian's voice cracked from disuse. It was the first thing she'd said in days. "Someone take that book away from him and tell him he's not to curse my parents."

"But _Brian,"_ John whined. 

Brian freed herself from the blanket, crawling across the floor to sit with the others. Roger passed her a plate and ladled a serving of potatoes and stuffing onto it. "Sorry, Freddie polished off most of the turkey. I told him not to."

"It's all right," Brian said. She set the plate aside.

"But are _you_ all right?" Freddie asked.

"I was hoping my parents would have come around by now," Brian admitted. She reached for a slice of lightly-picked cucumber and chewed at the seeds. "They will, I think."

Roger met Freddie's eyes and shook his head.

"Er..." Freddie said, plucking the book out of John's hands. John made a grab for it and missed, after which Freddie snapped it closed and tossed it over his shoulder. It landed in a dark corner; John crossed his arms, pouting. Unaffected by his friend's angry scowl, Freddie placed a copy of _Dealing with Anger When You Have Magic at Your Disposal_ into his hands instead, and muttered, "This is what I _thought_ you were reading."

"How did Brian know?" John asked. "She's been over there _the whole time."_

"I've got a sixth sense about you," Brian said, offering the first hint of a smile.

"And cursing people is literally your answer to everything, dear," Freddie added. "Last month, you said you were going to curse your professor for pointing out your own curse in class!"

"I don't like to be noticed," John explained, brows lowering. "Even if he _was_ impressed and gave me high marks for being an example."

"And my eyes," Roger said, pointing to them. "They must be some exciting color--"

"Yellow today," Brian said, looking out the window. Her own eyes were red, either from exhaustion or crying. Probably both. "Clear and sunny. Besides, John, the cover of the book said _Curses to Delight and Annoy._ My powers of observation can't be rivaled. I'm a Ravenclaw."

"Well, they deserve it," John said, curling his lip. "And if you're not going to do it..."

"John. No," Brian said.

"Fine."

Brian cracked her neck, then stretched her back with a satisfied grunt. At least she was up and about, Roger thought, even if she looked worse for wear. She was still wearing the clothes she was tossed out in, complete with a hole through one elbow of her jumper where she scraped it against the ice.

"You know," Roger said. "We should go to the mall before we go back to school."

"A mall?" John asked, unenthusiastic. "You mean, muggle shopping."

Roger caught his eye and tilted his head toward Brian and the ill-fitting clothes she was wearing.

Quickly, John said, " _Oh. The mall._ Yes, I'd love to go."

Brian chuckled. "You're a worse liar than Roger is. We don't have to. I don't know if I'm up for it, anyway."

"Well, at least let's go to Diagon Ally before we go back," Roger said. "We can get you a couple more sets of robes, at least."

She stared blankly at a spot on the floor, hazel eyes fixed. Her lack of movement was almost disturbing, as if she'd been frozen, although no one had cast a spell. "I really don't know what I'm going to do, guys," she said. "I can't even think about five minutes from now, let alone buying new clothes. And what am I going to do after the school year? I've nowhere to go."

"You can stay with me," the others said, literally at the same time.

Brian smiled, still staring at the floor. The smile didn't reach her eyes. "I love my parents," Brian said. "I can't just shut that off. I don't... I don't know how it was so easy for them to do that to me."

Roger felt tears in his eyes, even though Brian wasn't crying. John looked pretty close to breaking down, too.

"Like you said..." Freddie gave Brian's curly hair a pat. "Maybe they'll come 'round."

"Fuck them," John said.

Roger again recalled the fact that he'd never before met a thirteen-year-old with such a colorful vocabulary. "John!"

"No, really," he said, standing. "You're talented. And you have your whole life ahead of you. They'll probably name a species of dragon after you or something. Yeah, you'll discover a new kind of dragon, and you'll be famous, and your parents will say, 'we should have been nicer,' but it'll be too late, and your dragon will... will... _fucking eat them_."

John's jaw set as he tried - and failed - to prevent himself from crying. He sobbed once, crossed his arms, and slumped to the floor.

"Good enthusiasm," Roger said. "But let's try to imagine a scenario in which nobody is eaten or cursed or maimed or otherwise destroyed."

And then, Roger nearly jumped through the ceiling as an owl landed on the ledge outside one of the windows, and beat its wings against the glass. Annoyed at the lack of entry, it pecked at the frame until Freddie let it in.

"That's my mum's owl," John said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

It hopped into the flat, shaking itself dry. Cold water splashed everywhere. When Freddie tried to take the package out of its talons, it clicked its beak, snapping.

"Oh, careful. She's not very friendly to strangers," John said. Still, when he held out his hand to her, she rubbed against him like a feathery cat. "It's okay, Silver. You've come so far. Can I have that?"

"That's not an owl, it's a beast," Roger said.

John picked up the package, eyeing the card on the top. He smiled. "It's for Brian."

Silver fluffed her feathers, settling down as Freddie closed the window. Brian perked up, craning her neck. "For me? From your mum?"

"Yeah," John said, holding out the box. It was wrapped in brown paper, tied with string.

Not half a minute after Freddie closed the window, another owl collided with it. Freddie staggered back, tripped over Silver - who gave him a good nip - and fell. "I'm not a bloody _post office,_ " Freddie said, rubbing his calf, where a bruise was forming. "Merlin's _ghost._ "

"Huh. That's _my_ family's owl," Roger said. "It's okay, Fred. You can let her in. She's not a Slytherin, so she's not an arse. Like John's beast."

John elbowed him.

Freddie dramatically clutched his chest, took a deep breath, and crawled over to the window, giving Silver a wide berth. As soon as it was open, the old barn owl hopped in, dropped a box, and snuggled next to Silver for warmth.

Silver tolerated this, albeit with a haughty expression on her face. Slytherin owls fraternizing with Hufflepuff owls? Unheard of.

"This one's for Brian, too," Freddie said, walking on his knees over to Brian. "Go on, then. Open 'em."

Brian started with the card on the first box. Tearing open the envelope, he unfolded an elegant piece of parchment.

"What's it say?" Roger asked.

"Maybe it's private," John muttered.

"No, it's..." Brian's face seemed to want to smile, though he was fighting it. "John, did you tell your parents about...?"

"It came up, when Freddie came to fetch me," John said. "Sorry."

Brian looked back to the letter. "Dear Brian. You're always welcome in our home. Please accept this gift as an apology for the ineptitude of muggles."

"Ah, yeah, that sounds like mum," John said.

Brian set the letter aside, and untied the string before tearing the paper off. Atop the closed box, she found a small pouch with owl treats inside and an additional small note that read, "For Silver. She'll be grouchy."

"Oh, good," said John. "Here."

As John distributed the treats between the two owls, Brian opened the box. She stared for a moment, then laughed, one hand rubbing her temples as she shook her head. "Well," she said, taking out a book and holding it up. The cover read, _Hexes and Curses, the Definitive Guide, Eighth Edition, with Forward by Alistir Blacktooth Regarding Research and Development_.

"Ohhh, so _that's_ where John gets it," Freddie mused. "I see now."

"Been reading that book since I was little," John said, grinning over his shoulder as Silver nibbled on his fingers.

"What a healthy family," Roger said lovingly. "Here, lemme see it."

Brian passed him the book. He paged through it, though the illustrations were just a bit on the macabre side. This was hardly appropriate for bedtime stories, and yet, it explained so much about how John's mind worked.

"I think it's charmed to hold a little bit more than it looks like it can," Brian said, tilting her head at the box. "There's a couple shirts in here..." She took them out. One green and one blue. They'd definitely fit her better. Next, a button-down jumper in black, with the Ravenclaw crest embroidered on the left.

"She must be _really_ mad at your parents," John said. "I wasn't even sure she knew houses other than Slytherin existed."

"Oh, she _was_ angry, dear," Freddie said gravely. "You should have seen her, Brian. She even forgot to stick her nose up at me, being half-siren and all."

John threw an owl treat at Freddie, which bounced off his forehead. "Hey, leave off my parents. They're all right."

Brian continued digging through the box, though she didn't take everything out. When Freddie tried to sneak a peek inside, Brian pouted, hiding it from view. "Hey, some of this stuff is just for me," she said.

"Fine, fine," Freddie muttered.

Although, Brian did look just the slightest bit puzzled.

"Well, open the other one, then, if you're not going to show us what else is in there," Roger said. He shoved the box from his parents at Brian, who closed the first gift and set it aside.

This one had no letter on the outside, just a label with her name on it. Tearing off the paper, Brian opened the box and held up a multi-page letter, eyeing it.

"Oh, dad does like to write," Roger said. "You don't have to read it to us. I'm sure he had some things to say, too."

"There's also a card," Brian said. She opened it and read, "We thought you'd enjoy some Christmas treats. You don't have to share, no matter how much Roger begs." She looked inside the box and exclaimed, "There's loads of biscuits in here!"

"You'll definitely share," Roger said, hopefully.

"Your mum and dad said I don't have to." Brian picked up the box and hugged it. "Mine."

Freddie stole the box from under Brian's arm and pawed through it, tossing a chocolate-covered something-or-other to Roger. "Excellent," Roger said, stuffing the whole thing in his mouth before Brian could take it back.

"Hey!" Brian wrestled the box from Freddie, holding it as far away as she could. Unfortunately, she put it within John's reach, who pulled out a handful of whatever he could grab, before retreating behind the safety of his evil owl. Brian gave up, putting the box down in the middle of the floor. "Oh, all right. Fine. There's enough in here to last a week, anyway."

An hour later, the biscuits were gone.

"Well, that was a mistake," Roger said, cheerfully stretching out on the floor.


End file.
